


dá fhada an lá (however long the day)

by painted_pain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:59:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/painted_pain/pseuds/painted_pain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Dean and Castiel missing, Sam is at the end of his rope, searching for answers he cannot find on his own. His only hope is Jody Mills. Sparks fly and as they figure out what they mean to each other, the search for Dean sends them to an unexpected place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_dá fhada an lá  
tagann an tráthnóna_  
(however long the day  
the evening will come)

~*~

“Looks like you are, well and truly, on your own.”

Sam spun around in the black-spattered room, panic clawing at his throat. Crowley didn’t reappear. Neither did Dean. But he kept on spinning around, kept looking, this ridiculous hope burning in his gut that Dean would miraculously return, pushed out of wherever he went. Castiel, too. He twitched, fingers curling up into his palms, tight enough that he could feel the strain; there was a hint of a discomforting ache and his throbbing heart slowed, just a little, but nausea began rolling in his stomach.

He bent over at the waist and vomited onto the floor, where it splashed back onto his boots. His mouth and throat burned, and his hand shook as he wiped it across his lips. He was wasting time standing there. He couldn’t help anybody, let alone Dean, if he was frozen like this. 

He stepped backwards, away from the mess he made of the floor and the Leviathan ooze sprayed everywhere. Sam turned to the door, pulling his gun out from where it was tucked in his waistband and his knife from his coat pocket. He felt reckless, pulse thrumming, almost eager in his desire to confront other Leviathan, even if Crowley had an army of demons waiting outside. His grip tightened on the weapons, fingers clutching them greedily. Sam felt better with something dangerous in his hands.

Out in the hallway, he paused. It was empty. He could hear nothing other than the rabbiting of his heartbeat. He moved slowly down the corridor, peering around the corner, encountering no one. Crowley’s demons must have done their job as the only person around seemed to be Sam himself. He didn’t know if he should thank Crowley or kill him. Kill him, preferably, but Sam doubted he would get the chance.

Sam went back into the lab, eyeing up the Bunsen burners and various chemicals stocked on the shelves. Kevin was right, this place needed to be destroyed.

~*~

Sam ran out into the empty parking lot, the building behind him finally catching fire, black smoke billowing out the windows. Some of it looked like demon smoke and the back of Sam’s neck itched fiercely, but he didn’t dwell on it. 

The Impala lay in front of him, dented and scratched, looking half-destroyed with broken glass scattered all around her. The front windscreen was too cracked to be able to see through. Glancing around him, Sam opened the side door and threw his knife and his gun on the seat. He pulled off his bulky jacket, wrapped his right hand in it and began punching the glass. Anger roared inside him, the fire behind him reaching to an inferno, groans and smashes tumbling out of the building to match the sounds Sam himself was making.

It rose up in him, the grief and anger, tinged bitter, sour from his panic. 

The pain radiating up from his hand into his arm felt like nothing important. Half of Sam was missing; there was a hole inside Sam and it echoed hollowly in his chest. Besides, the pain focused him. It was essential, now, because it pinned Sam to reality, kept his mind clearer. 

A massive booming noise startled him and Sam looked down at the windscreen he had demolished. Shaking out his right hand and unwinding the jacket, he noticed how much it hurt. Rolling his shoulders, Sam placed the torn-up jacket on the large whole he had created and pulled at the windshield, until the majority of it peeled away. He dumped it on the ground and then went around to the open side door, wiping the glass of the seat. All he could hear was the steady falling of debris from Sucrocorp, the loud percussive booms as explosive materials detonated in the inferno. The air was thick with smoke and smelt like burning plastic, clinging to Sam’s clothes, hair and skin. 

Sam slid into the Impala and realised he didn’t have the key. Dean had given it to Meg and with her gone, he had to hotwire the car. If Dean saw him dismantling his baby, he would have boxed Sam about the ears and never let him drive her again. Sam chuckled, but it sounded garbled and broken, catching in his throat. 

The engine revved to life and Sam laid his head against the steering wheel, almost giddy with relief. It was only then that he noticed his wet face. He wiped as his cheeks ineffectually, wincing when he jarred his right hand. He looked down at it, flexing the joints. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but nothing seemed to be broken. In a few hours, it would probably be fine.

Sam put both hands on the wheel and drove, peeling out onto the road. His eyes kept flickering back to the burning building, a slight edge of terror cutting into him. He couldn’t look at the passenger seat and every minute or so, would squeeze his hand around the wheel too tightly, just to feel the flare of pain tingle up through his arm. 

He didn’t know where he was going and thirty minutes later, pulled onto a side road and stepped out of the car. Very few cars drove by, either driving too fast or too slow, blank faces behind the wheel. The silence in the car was deafening. Sam needed a plan. He needed to get somewhere safe, make a list, a plan, get organised, get some help. He knew this. But all he could do was stare at the cracked asphalt between his feet, the few blades of grass pushing through waving at him gently in the light breeze, vibrantly green.

~*~

The sun slowly sunk in the sky, casting the world in hues of orange and pink. Sam still stood leaning against the Impala, his mind purposefully blank. He felt like he was stripped down to the barest of himself, naked in the light of the setting sun, like he existed only in that light and nothing outside of it mattered. He was empty everywhere. 

He felt hollow, like all his insides had been sucked out. 

The blades of grass at his feet slowly disappeared in shadow as the sky darkened to night. He felt lonely without them waving at him.

The light drops of water landing on the back on his tilted head shook him from his stupor. He suddenly realised how strange he must have looked to people passing by - this desolate figure leaning against a busted classic car, leaning like the whole world had dropped its weight on his shoulders.

Sam pushed himself to stand upright and swayed a little as a spell of dizziness swooped though him. His mouth was dry and his whole head throbbed violently, the only warning before he was bent double for the second time, heaving viciously. With nothing in his stomach, there was just bile that made him gag with the stinging taste of it. After several moments, his stomach settled enough for him to lever himself up very slowly, gently manoeuvring himself into the car. The leather was damp from the light rain. 

“Fucking—“. His throat was so dry that the words got caught and stalled. He coughed and then swallowed roughly. He spoke again just to hear the gravel in his voice, that grit too real to be imagined.

“Fucking fantastic. Awesome. What a day,huh?” He slanted a look at the passenger seat and his whole body seemed to cramp up and tighten. The sharp eye movement made his head swim and spasm with pain. He brought his hands up to rub at his temples.

“Nothing wrong with me, just driving. Putting my hands on the wheel and my foot on the pedal and seeing where the road takes me.”

Now that he had started to speak he could barely stop, the desire to fill the silence moving through him so strongly he had to grit his teeth against it. He needed to keep it together. He needed to get off the road, get somewhere safe, research and then find the information that will get Dean back to him. And Castiel, too. 

He pulled away from the side of the road and headed towards the nearest highway. He tried to ignore the fact that in the whistling silence, with the wind coming through the empty space of the windscreen, the voice in his mind was starting to sound like Lucifer’s.

~*~

After several hours on the road, because Sam had to drive slowly so that the wind wouldn’t whip him in the face, he turned onto the gravel road that wound its way up to the cabin he and Dean had been staying in. He winced as the bit of gravel hit the undercarriage of the Impala, whispering apologies under his breath, trying to soothe the roar that seemed to rumble up from the engine. Sam pulled in close to the outside wall, before climbing out, soaked and chilled to the bone, blinking his stinging eyes as tears poured down his cheeks. He laughed darkly, pushing his palms into his eyes and rubbing them in the hopes that the tears would stop. He wanted to say that they were purely from the wind but he was feeling wound up, off kilter. 

He rooted around the trunk of the Impala and pulled out the tarp Dean had been using to cover his baby up for all those months. As Sam threw it over the roof and down, he couldn’t help but shudder at the emptiness that seemed to emanate from the gaping windshield, broken pieces of glasses clinging around the edges. He covered the Impala and strode away, murmuring reassurances that he would fix her, he would.

“Dean will kill me if he comes back to find his baby so mangled.”

He could almost hear Dean yell “Sam! What the hell did you do to my car?!” as he let himself in through the door. Closing the door behind him, Sam turned around and it hit him that several hours earlier, Dean had been here; his clothes were strewn across the back of the couch, his half-eaten sandwich still there on the table, his laptop open, empty beer bottles by the sink, and his other pair of boots by the door. He couldn’t breathe.

He slid down the door until he sat on the floor, staring at Dean’s boots beside him. It felt like Dean had just stepped out and would be back any second. It felt like Dean had died, again, but this time Sam had no body to bury. Dean was gone and Sam had no idea where.

Sam’s eyes burned and he couldn’t swallow past the lump in his throat. He knew it was wrong to think like that, to be so quick to believe the worst. He knew that Dean was not dead; he was hollow but he didn’t feel as if he had completely washed away. There was something still beating inside him that told him Dean wasn’t dead, couldn’t be dead.

But for right now, Sam couldn’t believe it, weighed down with the fact that Dean was just gone and he didn’t know where. He lowered his head to his arms and let his tears fall. He needed to let the grief and despair out, purge the infection from the wound.

Tomorrow. He would start the search tomorrow.

~*~

The morning light filtered in through the curtain-covered windows, highlighting the bottles standing beside the skin, throwing strange colours onto the floor. An off-putting smell permeated the air. Dean’s half-finished burger was beginning to go off. Sam groaned as he pushed himself up off the ground. His knees clicked, and when he stretched out his shoulders and back, a series off cracks echoed in his ear. His head ached. His throat was dry. Sam picked up Dean’s mess from the table on the way to the sink, dumping it in the bin before grabbing a glass from the cupboard. Filling it to the brim, Sam didn’t think about anything in particular. 

Gulping the water down and turning the face the rest of the room, Sam grimaced at the state of it. Putting the now empty glass behind him, he wiped his mouth and made his way to the bathroom. His mouth felt really gross, his teeth furry. He caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror as he brushed his teeth; red, puffy eyes, a sickly pallor to his skin, and greasy, stringy hair. 

Feeling somewhat better with minty-fresh breath and clean teeth, Sam began pulling off his clothes. After he had stripped his t-shirt off, he reached into the shower, turning it on, the pipes making loud creaking, clanking noises. It soothed him, to have sounds work their way around him, filling up the silent spaces. 

As soon as steam from the shower curled out to greet him, he stepped into it, sighing as the warm water hit his head and shoulders. 

He spent a long half under the water and by the time he got out, he felt scrubbed clean. He grabbed the remaining towel hanging from the rack beside the shower. Sam scrubbed it through his hair and then wrapped it around his waist as he walked through the main room and into the bedroom he had shared with Dean. Only one bed in the room – Dean and Sam had pointed fingers at each other, saying “No kicking!” Now it hit Sam weirdly in the chest, to see the hastily made bed, Dean’s duffel lying on his side while Sam’s was positioned on top of the chest of drawers. The feeling moved down to his gut, swelling there until Sam had to move to get it to disperse. 

He grabbed clothes, dressing as quickly as possible. He didn’t want to be in here.

Sam stepped quickly into the main room and quickly realised he didn’t want to be here either. But he had nowhere else to go. This was it, whether Sam liked it or not. Besides, he had a job to do. He had taken his moment and could not afford to take any more; Dean was depending on him.

His laptop was waiting for him on the table. On the rickety shelves behind the old television set there was a selection of Bobby’s books and what Sam had found or collected himself. It was something he could start with. Sam walked over and grabbed as many books as he could carry. 

Sam dumped them on the table, a small cloud of dust spiralling out from between the covers and pages. He closed the lid of Dean’s laptop without looking. He had no desire to find out what his brother had been doing in the hours before the fight. He sat before his own laptop, the pile of books to his left.

Booting it up, Sam finally started letting go of the lock-down he had placed his mind under. His fingers shook slightly as he logged on and then opened a new word document, his fingertips resting on the keys for a long moment.

Sam stared at the blinking cursor, at the blank white page that shone brightly at him, sneering. Slamming the laptop shut, Sam jumped to his feet and made his way out the front door, down the steps, around the cabin and onto the small patch of land that merged into the forest that completely surrounded the cabin. He wasn’t wearing any shoes. His sock dampened with the dewy grass, last night’s rain water soaking the ends of his jeans, wetness crawling up the backs of his legs as he walked back and forth. The grass was long and wild and green, moss softening the ground beneath his feet. 

The forest stretched out around him, dark and gloomy despite the early morning sun, and with the cabin at his back, large and squat, Sam felt hemmed in. He had no choices. He had no obvious leads. His head was pounding.

Sam was useless.

It built up in his throat, that anger that seemed to simmer underneath everything, as permanent a part of him as Dean. It reached a crescendo and Sam screamed, pushing out everything he could, this itching, continuous, panicking desire to get it out, get it out, _get it out!_ His voice broke under the strain, and in the ringing silence, he heard birds chattering, breaking up though the canopy. 

Sam looked down at his drenched socks. The ends of his jeans were damp. He scrubbed a hand across his face and left it resting over his closed eyes. _Think, goddammit._

What did he know? 

Dean had sliced through Dick’s neck with the weapon. The Leviathan had released a steady pulse of some kind of energy and then he died, black ooze splattering everywhere. Dick was _dead_. 

Sam opened his eyes in shock. _But where do monsters go when they die?_

“Purgatory,” he whispered into the now silent air. What if Dean and Castiel had been sucked in with Dick, that energy he had been giving off pulling the pair of them with him? It seemed like the kind of thing Dick would do, in order to have the upper hand. After all, he had always stayed that one step ahead them.

Yet Sam’s mind, that twisted little part of him that sounded like - that sounded like someone he should never listen too - murmured darkly, _but what if that weapon, one of_ God’s _weapons, delivered Dick unto the truest of deaths?_

 _Hmmmm, Sam?_ Sam shuddered, mouthing dropping out keening sounds. He shook his head, denying it, denying that voice.

_And he pulled your brother and your only friend with him, because if he had to die, then they had damned well die too!_

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam pushed out of lips numbed from chewing. He ran his hands though his hair, pulling on the ends. “Right now, it doesn’t matter. I have to do something or I’ll go crazy.” He paused. “Crazier. Fuck, I’m talking to _myself_.”

He blew out a heavy breath. 

Of course, it did matter. If Dean was in Purgatory, Sam would get him out. But if Dean was dead, dead as in truly dead and neither in heaven nor in hell, Sam would end up ripping himself apart trying to get him back anyway. If Dean was dead, he thought, shivering with a sudden chill in the weak late morning sun, he would summon Death. And pay whatever price. 

That’s what they did, wasn’t it? So wrapped up in each other, that they were only a half of a person when separated, and dangerously off-balanced because of it. They were isolated and it meant that in times like these, the worst of times, they had so few people to rely on. Sam curled his toes in his wet socks, grimacing slightly at the unpleasant sensation of cold, soaked cotton moving against his skin. 

Bobby was dead. _Again,_ he couldn’t help but add on, sighing in the still air.

Who did they have, besides Jody?

“I’m an idiot,” Sam groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead. He spun around in the grass, back towards the house. Jody was the only ally left that would answer his call. She’d done it before and brought a box full of Bobby’s books. She was competent, reliable, tough as nails in all the right ways, intelligent in a manner that meant she could spot things Sam never could. And Sam liked her, liked the way she snapped to attention, her ability to done to business, the tone of her voice as she’d ordered him to bed—

Well, maybe he liked her too much, he thought, smiling wryly, walking slowly up the steps, remembering how much that voice of hers had affected him. Pushing through the door, Sam padded through to the bathroom, where he had left his dirty clothes, stiff from last night’s rain and stinking of smoke. He shuffled though the pile, searching through his jeans pocket for his phone. Upon finding it, he shoved it into his pocket before hauling up the clothes in his arms and dumping them in the corner, on top of the bag already mostly full. Laundry, he would have to do that soon. If he remembered.

He went back into the main room and sprawled on the couch, which sagged worryingly beneath him. Phone now in hand, he tapped in Jody’ number, holding it up to his ear only to hear _This Sheriff Mills. I’m busy at the moment, corralling the drunk and disorderly of Sioux Falls. Please leave a message after the tone and I’ll get back to you_.

“Hey Jody, it’s, uh, Sam. Sam Winchester? Something has happened and I really need your help. I don’t know if, well. You don’t know. But.” Sam sucked in a shaky breath, hating that he had to say it aloud, putting sounds to his failure that would be heard by somebody else.

“Dean’s missing and I can’t find him. He’s disappeared, him and Cas, pulled somewhere when they killed the big bad. Leviathan,” he quickly amended. “They’ve vanished and I can’t find him.

“I need your help, Jody. _Please._ Bring all the books you have that might relate to Purgatory or Death. “

He brought a hand to cover his eyes, hiding in the darkness the action offered him.

“I realised that everyone else but you is gone or dead or doesn’t want anything to do with us so I could really use your help on this one, Jody.”

He pressed his fingertips into his eyes, seeing flashing lights, splashes of red and ochre, disorientating and yet sickeningly familiar. 

“I, ah,” he cleared his throat. He paused for several seconds, trying to get his breathing under control. “I’m losing it a little here, stuck in this cabin because outside - who knows what’s outside, y’know, I can’t, I can’t —.

“A little human contact would be great, if you could spare a few days. Until I get myself straightened out. Let me know,” he said, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling, his hand now sliding down the side of his face. He could still see remnants of colour dancing across his retinas, blood red and unpleasant. His head ached fiercely. 

“And don’t eat anything with corn syrup in it. Trust me. By now, I’m sure you’ve noticed something strange going on, people acting strange. Don’t eat it, just don’t. 

“Alright. I’ll – I’ll see you soon, hopefully.”

He rattled off the address of the cabin and hung up, suddenly at a loss at what to do, as if he had run out of steam. Sam stood up and paced the length of the room, making several rounds and feeling as if the walls were closing in on him. Taking a deep breath, he stopped his feet. He plonked down into the chair by the table and picked up one of the heavy tomes sitting there. 

He needed to make some kind of progress before Jody called him back.

~*~

Hours later, the only progress he’d made was getting irritated eyes from the dust floating back into his face whenever he turned a page. He couldn’t concentrate. The last twelve hours flashed over and over in his mind, the moment where he had looked away to protect his face from Leviathan ooze, and missed the second when Dean disappeared. It needled him, digging into all his soft spots, making his head ache fiercely. He had barely slept, wrapped up in his misery, indulging in it, when he should have been working. The words on the page in front of him blurred and swam, until he was no longer sure what language they were in. Archaic Latin or Sumerian? 

He shifted the book’s weight so he could lift a hand to knuckle at his right eye, hoping to soothe the stabbing pain that made concentration unbearable. Vision in Sam’s left eye flickered, going black. He cried out, grabbing his head with both hands, the book tumbling to the wooden floor, as the pain spread through the rest of his head in one excruciating wave. Sam panted, groaning as the pain crested and then began dissipating, until all that was left was its echo lapping at the base of his skull.

“God,” he croaked out. “What the hell?”

He hadn’t had a headache that bad in about five years. Searching for an answer, his mind rushed to deliver one. _Emotional stress. Lack of sleep. Dehydration. Hunger._

Sam realised he hasn’t eaten since yesterday, sometime in the early afternoon, and hadn’t touched water in just as long, barring the rain from last night and his still damp feet. Somehow, he doubted that counted. When he got up to go to the sink, he pretended that the glass he filled with water from the tap was unused. He drank two glasses rapidly, swallowing too large gulps in his desperation for it to wash away the last remnants of the pain. Sam placed the glass back on the sideboard heavily, wincing at the clatter of glass on metal. When he opened the fridge, his stomach rumbled violently, as if Sam needed the reminder, as if he was taking too long. 

The sandwich Castiel had given him was still there and Sam reached for it with reluctant fingers. Dean would be rolling his eyes at Sam, probably laughing if he were here. Saying ‘Sam, it’s only a freaking sandwich, it won’t hurt you,’ in a tone of complete exasperation, one that meant _grow some balls, you girl._

Sam stared at that ridiculous sandwich, his whole being yearning for Dean. He was standing still but his whole body seemed to be reaching, stretching past breaking point. Even if Dean said nothing but stupid crap that made him want to take a swing at him, Sam would take it with a smile.

He grabbed Cas’ sandwich, grimacing at himself. This is why he was so out of it, concentration whacked, his mind malfunctioning. He was fixated on how he missed Dean, how it felt like a limb was gone, or like someone had scooped out his most important parts, the ones that made him human. Sam was self-aware enough to know what he turned into when Dean was dead and gone.

Shoving the sandwich in his mouth, he chewed mechanically. He didn’t care what it tasted like as long as it eased the ache in his head. He needed that pain to disappear. He couldn’t think about what it meant, not with Dean missing. He ate the rest of the sandwich and closed the door. He leant his forehead against its cool surface. He watched as his fingers as they picked at the chipped paint at the corner of the door.

His phone ringing startled him out of his trance He jerked back off of the soothing coolness of the fridge. The sound immediately instilled a swirling sensation in his gut, tension rippling across his shoulders. Sam knew who was calling, simultaneously glad of it and hesitant to answer. 

He had left the phone on the couch, where it was now vibrating its way onto the floor. He reached it just before it fell, and fumbled with it as he went to answer. 

“Jody,” he breathed out, somewhat mumbled. 

“Sam,” she said sharply, “you alright? You sound wrecked.”

He blinked, her voice startlingly familiar. “Ah, ‘m fine,” he answered. Somehow it came out like a question, tilting up at the end.

“Uh-huh. Listen, I’m on my way. Thanks for the heads up about the corn syrup. Don’t know how I managed to avoid it these past few days but I am thanking my lucky stars.”

“So you’re okay, then? You’re not feeling any side-effects, not acting –“

“Stupid and doped outta my mind?” Jody interrupted dryly. 

Sam chuckled briefly. “An accurate description as any other, I guess.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m a few hours out. I grabbed as many books as I could. I think I have half of Bobby’s library sitting pretty in my backseat.” Sam heard a sound coming through the phone, like Jody was patting another box on the passenger seat. “I’ll be as quick as possible. This is some precious cargo.”

“Thanks, Jody. I know I asked, but you don’t have to come all the way out here yourself.”

“Oh, be quiet, you. I don’t need any of your self-deprecation. You wanted my help and you’re getting it.” Her voice became softer as she continued, the soothing lilt to it loosening the swirling in his gut. “Sam, I want to help. I’m worried about you. About Dean, too, wherever he is. And that feather-brained friend of yours. Dean meant the world to Bobby, and I-“ 

Her voice caught a little and something sticky gushed into Sam’s chest, clogging up his lungs. _Dean was always the favourite_ , a sibilant voice whispered, humming discordantly.

Jody carried on.

“You boys meant a lot to him and you mean a lot to me. And I’ve been around you before, Sam,“ she said knowingly, albeit not unkindly. “When you lose Dean, you tend to lose your head.”

Sam managed a huff of a sound, a rough acknowledgement that she spoke the truth.

“I’ll be there in a few hours. Don’t do anything stupid. Sleep, because I know you haven’t, or I swear, Sam, I _will_ use the Mom-voice.” There was a pause, as if she expected some response from him. All he could offer was a rough swallow, loud enough to be audible over the phone. Much to his embarrassment, a heated flush settled along his cheekbones.

“Hmm. See you soon. And stay safe.” 

With that, she hung up, leaving Sam standing there, confused and slightly dazed, still holding the phone to his ear. He licked his lips and his breath caught in his throat. A light arousal settled through him, warming him. Sam found himself dropping the phone back on the couch and making his way to the bedroom, lying down on top of it. 

Sam rolled onto his front, pushing his hands under the pillow beneath his head, his hair falling gently across his face. Stretching his legs apart to get comfortable and ease the pressure on his lower back, he pressed down into the mattress.

Slow moments rolled past. Sam rubbed his face against the pillow cover, the texture of the linen scratching against his cheek and catching slightly on his stubble. With his eyes closed, the world became soft and dream-like. The house was quiet and still, and that settled against him, like a weight lying on top of him, pinning him safely to the bed and pushing out all his worries. 

His mind hazily recalled Jody’s voice, the humming noise she had made down the phone, speculative and considering. In his mind, he stretched it out, making it long and satisfied. The kind of sound, Sam imagined, that she would make after she orgasmed, arching up off the sheets underneath her, pushing her chest into Sam’s. The kind of moan that she would brush up against his lips as he came inside her.

Pleasure pumped through him, curling into his chest and groin. Sam pushed his hips into the mattress, over and over, breathing hotly against the pillow. He felt precome slide along his cock and he shuddered. He wondered what Jody might look like, naked and flushed with desire. How she would taste. Sam opened his mouth, licking at his lips like her slick was already there and he was lapping it up. Sweat sprang up down his spine, on his forehand, at the backs of his knees. He could feel his t-shirt starting to stick and his jeans becoming too restricting. He gave one last push against the mattress beneath him, his cock sliding through the mess he was making in his boxers, before shifting onto his back.

Sam stripped off and flung his top onto the floor, dragging his fingertips down his chest. He gasped as his fingernails caught on his nipples. He moved them down to the waistband of his jeans, fingers rubbing underneath. He carefully popped the button, his cock pressing up against the zipper. The sight of it made the pleasure swell and he shoved his hand into the vee of his jeans, rubbing it through his boxers. He tilted his head back on the pillow, eyes falling shut as he groaned. The image of Jody, naked with her breasts shifting as she rode him, mouth pink and wet and open, chest heaving with gasping breathes, sprang up in his mind. Sam rushed to get his hand under his boxers, to get skin on skin. 

Pushing his jeans down his thigh, Sam wrapped a hand around himself, thumb rubbing at the head, pulling the precome pulsing out of his slit down along the shaft. With his other hand, he reached down to palm his balls, shivering as his orgasm tingled along his skin, almost there. Sam pressed his dick against his stomach, dragging his hand up and down, the sensations bringing him sharply to the edge. He fisted his cock and began jacking in earnest, orgasm cresting up and crashing over him as he fell over the edge. He came with a shout, come shooting all over his stomach and up to his chest. He kept his hand on his cock, making the aftershocks longer and more intense. A final shudder worked through him as he imagined Jody licking up his come, winking at him, before she kissed him, filthy and wet. 

Sam lay panting on the best, revelling in the lingering pleasure working its way through his system. It felt like something had opened up within him and all his tension had poured out in a waterfall. 

He propped himself up on his elbows, gazing at the mess on his stomach, tacky on his skin and pinching where it dried. He scrunched his nose up at the sight and shook his head, mouth still curled. His smirk faded when he fully realised what he had done. Guilt smashed through him. Instead of sleeping, Sam had jerked off. He had jerked off to the idea of having sex with Jody, fucking her until they were both sweaty and spent - Jody, the one person he had left to help him. 

“Oh God.” Sam’s eyes were wide. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

He was supposed to be finding Dean, not wasting time getting his rocks off while fantasising about somebody who was his back-up, writhing on the bed where he and Dean had slept. 

“Oh _God_ ,” Sam repeated, scrambling off of the bed and moving into the bathroom, where he grabbed the towel he had showered with earlier. He scrubbed at his stomach and wiped at the small streaks on his chest, before rubbing at his hands and gently cleaning his groin, his cock still over-sensitive. He balled up the towel in his hands, gripping it tight enough that his knuckles went white with the pressure. He looked at himself in the mirror. He was still sex-flushed, pink-cheeked and his lips puffy-red from chewing on them, his eyes dilated, dark and hazy with leftover lust. 

Sam threw the towel away from him with as much force as he could, pushing as much weight through the throw. The towel bounced off of the wall and landed in a messy slump on the floor with a wet slap. He smacked his hands on the rim of the off-white, chipped sink.

“Dammit!”

He watched himself as he calmed his breathing. It was pointless, these fits of rage and depression and desperation. He couldn’t get anything done if he flew off the handle every time something was difficult or didn’t fall into place. He needed to get it together and have it all locked down by the time Jody got here. He closed his eyes, his hands clenching and unclenching where the rest on the sink. 

Sam needed to calm himself. There were roots crawling around his feet, trying to trip him up, and he was the one who had planted them. 

Sam let out a sound of frustration. He needed to _focus._

He pushed himself away from the sink and walked back into the bedroom, feet dragging slowly. Sam felt ridiculous, walking about the cabin with nothing but his socks on. He pulled a new pair of boxers from his duffel, the ones from earlier no longer wearable, slick with his precome. The jeans were okay but he nabbed a new t-shirt. 

Sam made his way back to the main room, coming to stand beside the table, looking down at his open laptop and the books on the table. He bent down to pick up the book that had tumbled from nerveless fingers earlier after his—his _headache_. 

He flicked through the pages before plonking down on the chair. Sam had a job to do.

~*~

An hour later and Sam had come to realise that while the books were about Purgatory, they described the Leviathan or what could be in Purgatory, and they were barely legible through the various authors’ terror and fear, full of their pleas to go nowhere near it. What was in Purgatory was meant to be there, too fearsome and horrific and bloodthirsty for the Earth, and no door should be opened to let anything in or out. Which did nothing to help Sam. He needed to get something out. 

Nothing in these books provided the information he wanted so desperately. Honestly, he had known that, but he had hoped against hope that in their rush to find anything that could work against the Leviathan, himself and Dean had skipped over something vital, eyes jumping from one line to another and maybe skipping others in between. Sam flicked through the pages of the book in his hand again, hoping that he had missed a chapter, a page, _anything_ , but to no avail. He would have to wait until Jody got here, cardboard boxes stuffed with precious cargo hundreds of years old and enough dust to set Sam sneezing for a lifetime. 

The only other option Sam could think of in this moment was the spell they had used to open Purgatory twice now. But without Death, there would be no eclipse for months yet, and Sam did not dare to summon him, not yet, not for this. He couldn’t bring himself to even contemplate it. Death would look at him the way you would look upon an ant with a magnifying glass in the hot sun. Sam was too small a creature, too unimportant, too broken, an abomination. Dean could summon Death, wrapped in swagger that hid his fear poorly but displayed his need to do good so brightly that of course Death had agreed. 

All of this was pointless conjecture because Sam had no clue if Dean and Castiel were even alive, or if they were swallowed up by a black nothing. They could be dead or in Purgatory, where they might be dead as well. And who was to say, if they were in Purgatory, that they even had their flesh and blood bodies? Purgatory was where the souls of Earth’s monsters went when they _died_. 

Sam placed the book back on the pile on the table with a shaking hand, the other clenched in his hair. If Dean and Castiel had their bodies, then, Sam presumed, they would be an even tastier treat to the ravenous souls who were locked up without reprieve, stalking prey in the dark, swirling shadows. Even more reason for Sam to get them out, and get them out now. 

He buried both hands in his hair and rested his weight with his elbows on his knees. He dug them into the meat of his thigh muscle and then gave a yank of his hair. He sat upright and abruptly opened his laptop lid. If he couldn’t figure out where Dean was, then he would figure out what the Leviathan were doing. He trawled through local news, articles from the recent newspapers online, the stock market. Sucrocorp was dissolving, its stocks dwindling. There were articles claiming that Dick Roman had died in the blaze from Sucrocorp headquarters, the fire Sam had set to be an inferno, devouring everything in its path and leaving nothing but ash behind. But it was minimal coverage, no talk of leads or what was happening now, what would happen next. 

The domino had fallen, so where was the chain reaction? 

The chair creaked beneath Sam as he shifted his weight around, rearranging himself to lean back, head titled to look at the ceiling. This was all he could do at the moment – speculate. At least until Jody got here, which would be in a short hour or two. His shoulders tightened and tension swooped in his belly. That was something else he had no idea how to deal with. 

Sam wasn’t sure where Dean was, had no idea how to get him back, and couldn’t be sure that he was even alive. His grip on reality was tenuous at best and now there was nothing but shifting sands beneath his feet, threatening a wrong footing at any moment.

He stood up and poured himself a glass of water, gulping it down angrily, just to have something to do, to get his hands to stop shaking. He spied a plain glass bottle sitting on the windowsill in front of the sink, tucked behind the curtain.

“You suck at hiding things, Dean,” Sam murmured. He grabbed the bottle and stared at its clear contents distrustfully. He uncapped it. The sniff he took scorched his sinuses, nearly burning his nose hairs. Sam coughed into his elbow, his eyes watering.

“How the hell did you manage get moonshine, Dean?!” he choked out. “Christ.” 

He stared at the clear liquid and shivered as a chill swept through him. The house began creaking around him, as if settling its bones around him, _a cage made of ribs and spine, sinew sewing it together--_

“Getting late,” he said, words loud in the still air, eyes still on the bottle. It was mostly full, which meant Dean kept it for emergencies, for nightmares and for stitches. He knew he should get back to the books and then sleep, but Sam couldn’t help but flinch at the thought. He knew what kind of dreams would be waiting for him. He bit his lip, pulling it into his mouth and running his tongue over it. 

The creaks got louder and closer, as if pressing right up against him. His heartbeat thundered. It wasn’t dark yet, not even close, but it would be. Sam would have to look out into a darkness that could be hiding anything. 

He raised the bottle to his mouth. This is such a bad idea, he thought, as he took his first swallow, the moonshine leaving a trail of fire down his throat and into his stomach. Warmth spread through him and Sam took a larger gulp, and then another, and another. 

It was potent and travelled straight through him, immediately making his head swim, a tingle hitting the backs of his knees. Sam’s tongue felt heavy and swollen in his mouth as he fumbled with the bottle. 

He wiggled his fingers and stifled the urge to giggle.

In a few short minutes, Sam was well on his way to being smashed. “Such a monumentally bad, bad, bad idea.”

He swore, faltering over consonants and skipping over vowels.  
“F-f’king shit, ‘m ‘n idiot.” Half the bottle was gone and swirling in his stomach, hitting his bloodstream. He couldn’t find it within himself to care. 

Sam was going to pass out eventually into a deadened state. And when Jody came back, she would, she would, would – 

In the silence, he could hear the wind rushing through the trees outside, making them whisper, sibilant and insidious. He spun around and the room spun with him, like he was trapped on a tilt-a-whirl, blurring colours and shapes. A flash of red streaked across the room in the corner of his eyes, but when Sam turned to face it, there was nothing there.

Sam stumbled forward, bottled raised as he drank some more, fingers tingling as heat burned through him. He crashed into the small coffee table in front of the television set and landed on the couch, moonshine spilling out of the bottle and down his arm. The coffee table skittered across the floor, making a loud clatter. Sam’s heart was trying to claw its way out of his throat and more of the moonshine was slipping out of its bottle. He transferred the bottle to his other hand, bringing his fingers to his mouth, sucking up the droplets and licking up his arm, following the trails the alcohol had made. His eyes wandered restlessly over the room, looking into the shadows. He wiped his hand on his jeans. 

He didn’t stop until his hand burned from scraping it against the denim, the skin raw and red. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the small part of him that wasn’t drenched in moonshine and soaked in fear-induced adrenaline, was aware that the potential of something going wrong was increasing with every swig. But he couldn’t stop. The whispers from the trees were creeping closer and morphing into a voice, _his_ voice. 

Moonshine swirled around the bottom of the bottle and Sam stared blearily at it. His hands were shaking, the whole of him trembling. There was a roar in his ears. Sam could hear growling, the snapping of jaws, and a voice coaxing the hounds backs. This was the dangerous place, drunk and on the edge of consciousness, his mind conjuring his nightmares and throwing them into his field of vision. He was awake enough that it all was real. He could hear the crunching of bones beneath giant paws.

He couldn’t bear to drink anymore, stomach rebelling. He dropped the bottle to the floor and it tipped over, spilling along the wooden floor. He leaned down to watch it spread. When Sam righted himself, his head swam, vision blacking out at the edges. He thought he saw a hand reaching towards him. One of Lucifer’s favourite things was to leave him untouched for months after viciously ripping apart, taunting him with a hand that would reach forwards, sometimes rubbing through his hair with a gentleness that hid his tumultuous and vicious anger. Lucifer was like that, Sam mused, as he folded himself down on the couch. The angel had a gentle, charismatic, and suave veneer that covered a rage born a millennia ago. 

Sam imagined a hand stroking through his hair and then digging into his scalp, ripping through it. 

And then he passed out.

~*~

Sam was running, his lungs burning. He couldn’t stop, didn’t dare stop. There were screams filling the air around him, the sound of pounding feet behind him. He could never outrun the demons Lucifer had sent after him, could never escape, but he liked to taunt Sam, dangle freedom in front of him and then chase him into the ground. Sam knew from experience that he could run until his legs gave out. He could run until all the small bones in his feet snapped, until his legs were nothing but bloody stumps, and then run further, until his thigh bones cracked. Then black smoke would descend on him, clawed hands and fanged mouths darting out of the swirling shadows to rip up what was left of him. Disembodied voices would murmur about ‘how the mighty have fallen’ and ‘was it worth it, Sam?’ His own blood dripped back down onto his face. 

Lucifer would stand back, at a distance, a beatific smile dancing across his face. 

Lucifer liked to watch.

This was the lesson Sam learned best of all. Lucifer was the biggest and most perverted voyeur. He would hand Sam over to his artists to make his body a canvas and his blood the paint. 

But there were certain things Lucifer would not share and would not watch other demons do. He would shower Sam in strangled and strange affection after he had run, after he had been torn up.

This is why Sam ran now. Why he would always run. The breath on the back of his neck would urge him on until the end. Every moment running was a moment away from Lucifer. Branches whipped into his face, uneven ground beneath his feet making him stumble but he didn’t fall. Lucifer liked to tease him with reality. He was brilliant at making Sam believe he was, he was - that he was anywhere else but here. 

Sam looked behind him and there were black-eyed hounds chasing him, their leashes chains and those chains were in the hands of Lucifer, fire licking at his heels and ice in his laughing eyes

With Sam’s head turned, he missed the root sticking up from the ground. His foot caught in it and he crashed to the ground with a thud, his breath leaving him in a rush. He had nothing left to scream with as the hounds descended on him, howling. Sam’s mouth opened on an endless scream.

And Lucifer watched, clapping with delight, as he made Sam die the same way Dean had died.

~*~

He woke up screaming, his voice bouncing back at him, hands pushing away invisible foes and feet kicking off the ground. It took several moments for Sam to calm down enough to realise he was outside. That he was screaming. That there was nobody there, nobody to fend off, nothing ripping into him and no laughing voice. 

Sam let his body go lax, limbs sliding down as he blinked up at the darkened canopy above him, the sky peering through. 

“Fuck,” he swore. He had no idea where he was. Sam presumed he had stumbled through the forest behind the cabin, drunk off his ass and hallucinating because of it. He reached up to rub viciously at his eyes, a blinding pain worming its way through his head. 

“I knew it would be a monumentally stupid idea. Such a bad id- fucking, fuck, fucking jesus Christ, ow!”

A spike of pain drove its way from the base of his skull up into his left eye. It ebbed, leaving Sam shaking and breathless. A cold sweat sprung up all over his body. One hand still pressing unto his left eye, he lifted himself up to a sitting position, swaying dizzily as he did so. 

He swore again, viciously. 

He needed to get up and get moving, before it got too dark to find his trail. He could follow the stars but knew that continuously staring up into the sky would only make his hangover worse, head fighting against gravity and his neck feeling like a wet noodle. 

“Right. Right, okay.” He took a deep breath and started to move up but had to flopp back down again when nausea swooped through him. _Better out than in_ , Dean’s voice said, the same thing he always said when Sam was puking up in a toilet bowl, after he’d mocked Sam for his weak constitution.

“Get up, Sam, get up.” 

He pushed himself to his feet, tilting forward and stumbling. He straightened up and immediately bent forward, vomiting. Second time in as many days. Sam spent several minutes puking until nothing but bile spilled out at his feet. His stomach heaved one more time and though he gagged violently, nothing more came up. He took a step backwards, still hunched, clutching his cramping stomach.

He waited until his head no longer wanted to spin away from his body, and then slowly righted himself, head too light on his shoulders. Looking around him, Sam noted that he was at the bottom of a steep hill. Pushing his hands through his hair made it clear that it was a state, full of mud and twigs and leaves. His clothes hadn’t faired any better. Sam’s jeans were almost completely brown, mud still wet and dark in patches. His shirt was in a similar condition to his jeans but ripped, ragged. The pain radiating from beneath his skull made it difficult to catalogue how injured his body was, but as he began moving around, to try and situate himself, he could feel aches spring up across his shoulders and down his legs. His back was heavily bruised and his feet sent an agonising shiver through him with every step he took. He hadn’t been wearing shoes.

“Disaster. Knew it would be, Sam, and you did it anyway. You feel better now?” he asked himself, voice laden down with sarcasm, slurring. “Hasn’t gone the way you planned, now has it?”

His own voice grated against him, needles scraping up his throat. There was a sickly buzzing in his ears. 

During his nightmare, Sam must have fallen. His eyes were drawn back to the hill in front of him and he could spy a distinct path through the ferns and brush. Hard to miss, actually. Sam was six-four and his body, when it fell, created mass destruction in its wake. Sam groaned and began making his way up the hill, stepping as gently as possible, relieved that he hadn’t broken anything during his flight of insanity.

It took him too long to make his way up the hill, his body aching and a fierce blaze in his head burning him up. It was getting darker, shadows lengthening all around him. How long Sam had spent running away from himself in the woods, he had no idea. 

Minutes in dreams passed like sand through fingers, impossibly fast and impossible to catch. Sam had been running for hours and dying for longer, but his mind had been playing tricks on him because judging from the sun setting behind him, it had only been an hour, two at the very most. Jody had probably arrived already. She might even be searching for him, having noted the empty bottle somewhere beside the couch that reeked of something unbelievably alcoholic. Or she was waiting for him, sitting at that table, impatience etching her face in hard lines.

He shook his head and his vision went white with the pain. The ferns closed in around him to brush his shoulders wetly, and Sam clutched his head in his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut, hissing between his teeth. The pain built behind his temples, pressure like a vice. It spread, setting alight every neuron as it passed. Every individual part of him was screaming. 

“No,” he moaned. “No, no, no, no. Not happening, can’t be happening, I don’t get them anymore.” But Sam knew what was happening, though he had no idea how or why. It had been years, five, almost six. 

Sam hadn’t had a vision since the Yellow-Eyed Demon had died. He never thought he would ever have one again, but the pain spreading through him told him something different. Tension clawed its way into him, binding him, pulling him into darkness and so much pain it felt like Sam was splitting in two.

His eyes fluttered open, his vision stretching, contorted. He saw a beam of light through the trees as he pitched forward and a voice calling his name, frantic and desperate –

_”Sam, SAM, can you—_

_“Dean is –“_

_– red eyes flashing in between gnarled tree trunks, howls that made his skin crawl, the thick small of ash, twisted shapes and distorted shadows reaching—_

_“Stuck in—_

_“Alive—“_

_– Dean’s face, wide-eyed and petrified, skin pale and bruised, Castiel’s trenchcoat wrapped around Dean’s shoulders as he shivered, gun in his hands –_

_“Sam, we’re alive –_

_Survived—_

_Dean and I, we’re in—“_

_– Dean shouting, voice breaking in fear and mouth twisted with it, Castiel pulling away, a flash of dirty white and a growl that sounded far too close—_

Everything went dark, black and silent, except for Sam’s frenzied breathing, which caught in his throat on every single inhale. Distantly, he heard his name being called over and over, but he couldn’t concentrate long enough to think about that right now. It floated across his mind and Sam couldn’t catch it, overwhelmed by what his vision had delivered to him.

Dean and Castiel were alive. He could breathe, finally, the weight no longer sitting on his chest. They were alive. And then a thought thudded through him: 

But for how much longer?


	2. Chapter 2

Sam drifted back to consciousness as a hand brushed through his hair, a gentle, comforting touch he rolled into as he blinked his eyes open. It was dark but not the dark of midnight. He saw the stars in the bruised sky. They smeared as he moved his swimming head.

“Sam.” The hand came down to rest on his cheek. Sam made a soft humming sound and nodded his head. A thumb brushed under his right eye. “You look awful,” a voice said, so quietly Sam wasn’t sure he was meant to hear it. “What have you done to yourself?”

“I got drunk and decided running from my nightmares seemed like a good idea,” he answered anyway, slurring slightly. Then he realised who was beside him.

“Jody!” He reached towards her. She smirked at him, lifting an eyebrow. Her eyes were incredibly soft, though, as if Sam had done something endearing.

“The one and only. Can you get up?”

He looked up at her, face illuminated by the flashlight lying on the ground. Sam watched as her other eyebrow went up to join the second. He realised abruptly that he’d been staring, unaccountable pleased to see a familiar face, one that was kind and welcome. He flushed, licking his lips, his eyes still lingering.

“Ah, yeah. ’m bruised as hell.” He smiled. “S’what happens when you fall down a hill, but I can definitely get up.”

Jody looked at him with wide eyes, before picking up the flashlight to point down the hill, the beam picking up the flattened ferns from Sam’s tumble. She brought her gaze back to him, her voice holding nothing but concern.

“You fell down that and all you have are bruises? Dammit, Sam, you are one lucky son of a bitch. Now, come on, up you get. We need to get you back so I can take care of your drunk ass.”

“I’m not drunk!” He tried to get back up but the world tilted dangerously. “Huh. Maybe I am.”

She stood up and reached out a hand for Sam to take, rolling her eyes. Her palm was warm and dry against his. He levered himself up with a grunt of effort, bones creaking and stiff, trying to pull as little as possible on her hand. Standing, he looked down at her, clutching her hand as his blood rushed through his head. He brought up his other hand to his forehead, trying to fight down the dizziness.

“Y’okay, Sam?”

“Yeah, just, my head hurts, I’m a bit dizzy.” He grinned sheepishly.

“That’s what happens when you drink enough moonshine to pass out.” At the look on his face, she raised her eyebrows. 

“Yes, I saw the bottle. And the room smelt like paint-stripper. I think you might have doused the couch.” She laughed as he groaned in embarrassment. She patted him on the chest, squeezing his hand with the other. In the quiet of the forest around him, it felt intimate. 

And then his memory of the vision slammed into him. The fact both Dean and Castiel were alive, that _Dean was alive_. His knees went weak and he wobbled, tilting into Jody. She looked up at him, worried, mouth open as if to say something. Sam grabbed her hand. That euphoric bubble was back in his chest, making him feel lighter than air, like he had swallowed sunshine and there was light pouring from him. Sam beamed. Jody smiled back tentatively.

“I had a vision earlier, I don’t know how, I haven’t had one in years, I think Cas shoved it into me.” Sam grinned madly. “Would explain the headache I had earlier, must have been trying for hours, God, the amount of power that must have taken, that’s incredible—“

“Sam,” Jody interrupted, “Slow down. What the hell is going on?”

Sam frowned at her. “I had a vision.”

“Okay,” she replied, drawing out the vowels, disbelief clearly audible. Her eyes were on their hands resting on his chest. She shook her head. “I didn’t know you had those?”

He ducked his head. “Well, not for a few years, anyway. But that’s not the important thing. Castiel showed me Dean. He told me they’re alive.” He met her eyes, trying to get her to see how big a deal this was. “Dean is _alive_ , Jody,” Sam breathed.

Jody smiled up at him. “I guess he is.”

Impulsively, Sam dropped her hands and wrapped her up in a tight hug, resting his cheek on her head. His mind whirred, too fast, thoughts spinning. Words sloshed around. Jody slowly brought her arms up around his waist and hugged him back just as tightly, hands gripping his top as much as she could without a care for how dirty he was.

Long moments passed and Sam kept his arms around her shoulders, desperate to keep the contact, seeking simple physical affection and the feeling that he was cared for. Sam moved, headed tilted down and Jody’s tilted up. Their eyes met. Jody gave him a smile, crinkles at the corner of her eyes, not unlike Dean’s, and Sam felt flushed with affection, cheeks and chest warm. 

It was good, that she was here. She should know that. Sam leant down, and pressed his lips to hers, felt the give in them and shivered at her small gasp. Sam heard a light thud, realising Jody must have dropped the flashlight when both her hands wound more tightly in his shirt. He pressed harder against her lips, tongue darting out just to taste, licking gently into mouth. 

It was good. Sam felt light-headed.

He felt Jody shift and draw back, and he immediately pulled away, dropped his arms, missing the touch of her lips, of her body against his. Jody reached down and picked up the flashlight. Sam reached up and scratched the back of his head nervously, wanting to smack himself. 

“It’s okay, Sam,” Jody said softly, but she wasn’t looking at him. Sam felt like the biggest fool. She turned away, lighting up the path behind them. “We need to get going, before it gets too dark.” She spoke over her shoulder as she began walking away, the beam making the trees around them appear to bend towards the light. Sam followed her, scuffing his socked feet against the ground. They still ached and Sam wasn’t looking forward to cleaning the cuts that he knew he had.

Jody turned around and called out to him. 

“Sam, I said it was okay and I meant it. Stop acting like a scolded child. I’m not dismissing you and I’m not rejecting you.” She took a deep breath before looking straight at him, and a thrill shuddered up his spine at the possibilities. “I’m not saying no, I’m saying not right now. And we need to get back. You need to sleep.” Sam walked up to her slowly, trying not to wince. “And apparently, you have wounds to be mended.” 

“Just my feet,” he said quietly.

“Just your feet.” Her hands were on her hips, but her face was sad. “Right, follow me and I’ll make sure you don’t step on anything that’ll do any more damage.”

They started their slow return back to the cabin. Sam was so glad to see her, but it was also strange and confusing. His eyes kept dropping to her legs and then dragging up. His body ached, his head pounding. But Dean was alive. Dean was alive and Jody was here. And Jody had kissed him back. He felt like he was spinning away but he was in good hands, with someone that would prevent him from splintering into a thousand pieces. And if he broke, if slivers of him slipped away to fall to the ground, then he would be patched up with a scolding and a smile. Jody seemed good at putting on bandaids. 

Sometimes, Sam could make himself forget that she had once been a mother with a son he had shot through the head.

~*~

Due to Sam’s bruised feet, it took them over an hour to see the cabin lights shining through the trees. He hadn’t run far, just far enough to have left him disorientated and unsure of his surroundings. They didn’t speak. Sam was too busy concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, following Jody’s footsteps. They would talk later, of that Sam had no doubt at all. Jody didn’t appear to appreciate the art of sweeping things under a rug, the Winchester way of things. He flicked his hair out of his face and focused on his feet.

It was fully dark by now, minutes moving them closer to midnight or after, Sam couldn’t be sure. Jody’s feet were lost in shadows. He had to pick his way carefully behind her. Another hundred yards and he’d be on that patch of grass just behind the cabin, the ground soft and spongy with moss. Sam was looking forward to it. In the midst of his dreaming about his feet walking on something that cushioned his feet, he didn’t notice the collection of pebbles of varying sizes scattered to the right of the trail, walking over them and yowling with surprised pain. 

Jody spun to face him, whipping her gun out, the light from the flashlight beaming straight into Sam’s face. His eyes watered, half-blinded by its brightness.

“Shit, sorry, Sam,” Jody said, moving towards him, putting the gun away. She reached towards him, one hand outstretched to grab onto his arm and lead him away from the pebbles. He walked more gingerly than before, still blinking and trying to clear his eyesight. 

“What the hell were you thinking, walking over there with your damaged feet?” she asked him, voice loud and shaking. 

“I, ah.” Sam blinked and shook his head. “I couldn’t see.”

Jody stared at him in disbelief. “And you didn’t think to tell me.”

Sam shrugged, eyes purposefully trained on his feet. Jody dropped his arm and threw both hands in the air.

“You’re ridiculous.” She pulled her hair out of its ponytail, hands twitching in agitation as she redid it. “Heaven help me from damaged puppies,” she muttered under her breath before she stepped towards him, put her hands on his face, sweeping her thumbs under his eyes. Her face was stern but the corners of her lips were turned up. He frowned – he wasn’t a puppy, dammit – opened his mouth to say so but Jody got there first, pressing her lips into his, immediately sliding her tongue against his, leaving him breathless.

She pulled back and she was laughing at him, eyes twinkling. 

“I can’t believe you weren’t talking to me.” She patted his cheek gently, although he couldn’t help think that there was a whole lot of condescension packed into the gesture. “I never had a boytoy before,” she said and she winked, leaving Sam gaping at her.

“Close your mouth, you’re gonna attract flies.” Sam snapped his mouth shut, teeth clacking together audibly. It was the loudest sound in the forest around them, highlighting the eerie silence that pressed coldly against his back. He flinched, eyes darting around. He turned to look behind him and could see nothing but the blackest shadows. He jumped when Jody’s hand wrapped around his forearm. He laughed weakly at himself, not meeting Jody’s eyes.

“Oh, Sam,” she said, so softly it made Sam want to cry with how much he suddenly missed Dean. 

“I didn’t sleep well,” he told her. “I’m just tired. And I drank too much.”

“I know.” She didn’t press him further, just pulled Sam to stand beside her, bumping her shoulder against his upper arm. Her grip on his arm tightened. “Not far now.”

Not far at all, Sam agreed, as they moved forward slowly, the cabin emerging more and more. Eventually Sam’s feet made it onto the patch of grass he had fantasised about so briefly. It felt heavenly against his battered soles. A sigh escaped his lips. The grass was cool from the night air and it was soothing. But what Sam longed for the most was to lie down and sleep, dreamless, and so when Jody pulled at his arm lightly, he followed, limping.

Jody’s truck was parked out by the front door. Sam could still see boxes of books in the backseat. His fingers itched to get them, to turn the pages. The desire to figure it all out and rescue Dean burned through, but it had a short fuse. Sam was too tired and drained. He knew well enough when he wasn’t capable, even though the realisation cut into him. 

But Jody was here. Two heads were better than one, especially when one of them was tortured, cracked and broken. 

“Sam.”

“Yeah, yeah, coming.” 

Jody had the door open already. He made his way up the stairs, slowly. He shivered, only noticing now how cold he was. Jody closed the door behind him and pushed him to the couch, where he levered himself to sitting with a groan. His muscles ached and protested, stiff with the pain and cold. Sam could smell the moonshine on the couch, from when he spilled it all those hours ago. He felt ill.

Guilt washed through him, sooty and sticking to his throat, making it difficult to swallow. Dean was alive and the bubble of joy and euphoria that fact caused was still sitting snug in his chest but it felt stained, now. Sam had gotten drunk and traipsed through the woods – Castiel had done all the hard work. He couldn’t fathom how much juice that would have taken, how wiped out Cas would be now, angelic grace slipping away, sucked up greedily by the space between them and Sam. They had to be in Purgatory, but Sam couldn’t be sure.

So he felt guilty and happy. Guilty because there was happiness swirling around him. Embarrassed because he had kissed Jody, but pleased, almost blissful, that she had kissed him back – Sam felt guilty about that too. His brother and his friend were missing; this was not the time to go gallivanting around the woods. Sam pitched forwards, dropping his head in his hands. Sam had even jerked off thinking about Jody. Oh _god_ , what the hell was he doing?

Jody’s voice startled him out of his spiralling thoughts.

“Sam, I’m not sure I know what’s going on, but could you please stop beating yourself up over whatever it is you’re beating yourself up over?” Sam jerked his head back to look up at her, standing in front of him with the medical kit in her hands. She gave him a small, half-smile. “You’re giving me emotional whiplash, here.”

Sam opened his mouth but no sound came out. He closed it, licked his lips, opened it again. “Oh.” He swallowed. “I’m drunk?”

She sighed heavily. “Yeah, I know.” She sat down on the coffee table, placing the kit beside her. She scrubbed her hands across her face and then through her hair. She’d taken it out of her ponytail again. It was longer than before, brushing her shoulders. Her bangs were fluffed up and feathering around her forehead. Her eyes looked bruised, her mouth slightly pinched.

Sam leaned forward, putting a hand on her knee, thumb rubbing along the seam of her jeans. “You okay?” he asked her, recognising the futility of the question and the look she gave him let him know that she thought the same thing. 

“I’m as fine as you are, I’m sure,” she answered wryly, bringing a hand down to rest on top of Sam’s. Her eyes dropped to her knee and Sam’s followed hers. A light calm settled over him, making the warring confusion and writhing mass of feelings occupying his mind settle. For the moment, at least. 

Jody smoothed her hand across the back of Sam’s, moving downwards so she could wrap her long fingers around his wrist, fingertips resting softly against his pulse. It felt startlingly intimate and Sam’s heart jumped. Jody stroked the inside of his wrist slowly. Heat spread through him and his breathing quickened. His groin tightened and he shifted on the couch, legs spreading a little wider. 

“Jody—” Sam’s voice was fading and rough.

She let out a small humming sound. It went through him like a shock; it echoed the sound on the phone but was more similar to how Sam’s fantasy had imagined. He moved again, his feet sliding a little on the floor and he let out a slight hiss. Jody cleared her throat, removing her hand. His wrist tingled but felt untethered without her hand resting around it. 

Jody turned to the medical kit beside her, opening it up and taking out bandages and cleaning wipes. Sam realised sitting on the couch was not the best place for this. He would have to walk to the bedroom on freshly bandaged feet.

“Jody, stop.” 

She looked at him with a slightly incredulous look on her face. “What, you want to get gangrene?” 

Sam huffed a laugh. “God, no, but we should move to the bed so I’m not walking around, ruining all your handiwork.” Jody opened her mouth as if to argue and then closed it, rolling her eyes at herself. She began packing away the kit so she could carry it into the bedroom as Sam slowly made his way to standing. He shuffled his way to the bedroom, limping with Jody behind him. When he made it onto the bed, he collapsed backwards, groaning as his back straightened out. He stretched his arms over his head, arching a little, and sighed in satisfaction as his spine popped.

Jody looked at him with slightly red cheeks as she sat down on the edge of the bed but opened the kit as if he hadn’t been staring. She tapped her right thigh. “Foot up here, please.” When Sam did so, she let out a surprised sound. “This isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Your sock is destroyed but there are very few cuts. The worst thing is that it looks really bruised and it’s filthy.”

Sam grinned. “I’ve been a naughty boy.”

Jody hummed. “I think you have. I have two feet to clean up and a young man to send to bed.” Her eyes flashed wickedly and Sam bit his lip against the desperate ‘yes, please’ that wanted to spill out. “To _sleep_ ,” she said knowingly. Sam pouted and Jody laughed, shaking her head.

“Get your head outta the gutter, we need to get down to business. Maybe later,” she added, leaving Sam to stare at her poleaxed as Jody rolled his sock off. The cotton was sticking to his skin, coated with mud, but it didn’t hurt as she took it off him. Jody dumped the sock on the floor when she’d gotten it completely off his foot.

“They’ll both be going in the trash. They’re unsalvageable,” she told him. Sam sunk down into the pillow under his head, shifting so it cradled his neck, the same way Jody was cradling his foot in her lap.

“I don’t doubt you,” Sam mumbled, eyes gritty with weariness. His lids were heavy, so he closed them, listening to Jody ripping something open.

“This might sting,” she said. She’d opening the cleaning wipes. Jody began cleaning the dirt off his feet and cleaning the minor wounds. She placed a few bandages on his sole.

“Alright, next patient.”

Sam propped his other foot on her lap. Jody repeated the process, continuing to clean and bandage his foot. 

He rubbed a hand across his mouth and then pressed against his eye. The ache in his head was persisting, part moonshine, part residual pain from the vision, and part not enough sleep. Jody’s hands moved up and down his foot as he slipped into a doze, half-awake. 

“Sam,” she called to him softly. He blinked awake. “Yeah,” he pushed out, propping himself up on one elbow while his other hand knuckled the sleep out of his eyes. He noticed that her hand was wrapped around his ankle, thumb rubbing over the skin just above the ankle bone. 

“You need to get changed before to pass out, you’ll get muck everywhere.”

“Right, yeah.” He chuckled sheepishly. He sat up fully as Jody tidied away everything back into the medical kit. 

“I’m gonna put this away while you change.” She paused at the door, hand on the handle. Sam waited for her to speak, but she said nothing, and after a long moment where she didn’t look at him, she strode into the kitchen, the medical kit clutched in her hands.

Sam blew out a heavy breath. Whatever she had to tell him or ask of him, she wouldn’t wait. Jody didn’t seem like the most patient of people and saw no need to beat around the bush. He swung his legs around, biting his lips as he gently placed them on the floor. There was minimal pain. 

He pushed himself to standing and made his way with slow steps to his duffel. His sleep-pants had been tossed into the bag last time he had worn them. Sam unbuckled his belt, letting his jeans pool at his feet. He glanced at the door Jody had left open before stripping off his top, wincing as it peeled off him, scraping against his grazed back. He looked at it hanging from his hand. Unsalvageable in the state it was in. He twisted his torso, aimed and then threw it into the waste basket in the far corner. His mind supplied the image of Dean lounging on the bed, eyebrows raised in mock surprise, clapping at Sam’s ability to throw a bedraggled and destroyed top into a basket. 

It was so crystal clear that Sam expected to turn around and see Dean there. He eyes darted around the space in front of him, keeping the bed in his peripheral vision. He closed them, inhaled deeply, and turned to look at the empty bed, a hiss of breath leaving him at the shifting of his feet. 

_See, Sam? He’s not there. You knew he wouldn’t be and yet you hoped anyway. Pathetic._

Sam stepped out of his jeans, pressing down hard on his feet and the cruel laughter flickered, faded. He slipped on the worn sweatpants he wore to bed. As he walked past the door, he saw Jody pressed against the sink, head bowed and her arms spread as if to hold her up. The door frame creaked when he leant up against it and Jody whirled around. She pressed her hand against her chest, blinking rapidly. Sam offered her an apologetic smile but she didn’t smile back, folding her arms.

Pressing his shoulder harder against the doorframe in order to take some of his weight off of his feet, Sam waited.

“Sam.” Her voice trailed off, unsure and wavering. It was the same tone of voice she had used not five minutes earlier – questioning, as if she had something difficult to say but didn’t know how to say it. Jody stepped forward and stopped, raising her gaze to meet his. The uncertainty he could see there left stooped over, hollowed out. She was going to tell him that it had been a mistake. That she didn’t believe him, about his vision. In his mind, he could see her mouth curling in disgust and fear as she hurled words at him, calling him a freak, a monster. 

But he would take those words and smother them, lock them inside his chest as truths, if she would stay. Sam needed someone here, to ground him as a tether to who he was so he wouldn’t lose it. There was a voice whose echoes would get louder and louder without someone to fill the space. He needed her here. But if she refused, spitting at him, he wouldn’t keep her. Sam refused to be someone’s prison. 

“Your – your vision,” she said haltingly. Sam didn’t look away. 

“What about it?”

“I don’t understand,” she confessed. Jody moved, pacing up and down the small kitchen space, tension winding up in her. The dark from outside poured in through the window, throwing everything in shadow, the only light coming from the bedroom and the lamp by the front door. Sam waited for the explosion.

“Time travel, zombies, Leviathan.” The words burst out of her and she stopped suddenly, fists clenching by her sides. “I can believe it because I saw it. Demons and angels, yeah, I’ll believe it. Ghosts and werewolves and vampires, fine. But visions? And, and psychics?” She paused, hands uncurling and she lifted them up them up to run through her hair. Sam watched her, eyes tracking the ways her arms moved, steady but her hands were fluttering, on the edge of shaking. She looked at him, eyes piercing. “Can you read my mind? Can you see the future?” she demanded.

Thrown, Sam shook his head fiercely. “I can’t, Jody. I swear!” Jody stepped back and Sam slumped.

“You’re afraid of me.”

“No. No, Sam, I’m not afraid of _you_ , I’m afraid of what you might be able to do. Of what you might see. Or have seen.” Jody let her hands fall. “It’s. It’s terrifying to think that the whole time I’ve known you, you could have been reading my mind.” Her voice changed, dropping down to whisper. “It’s very difficult to think about the idea that you saw what happened to my baby boy.” Her eyes, still locked with Sam’s, were so heartbroken, he could feel it kick him in the chest. “That you saw and did nothing, and let him die the second time, taking my husband with him.” Tears fell from her eyes and Sam stepped forward, only to stop when his feet protested. His fingers twitched and he ached to hold her, his arms empty and useless.

“Jody, I’m not. I wouldn’t.” He stuttered to a stop. The words wouldn’t come out right.

“I know you are not a monster, Sam. You have this big heart.” She wiped at her face, her words muffled and strained. “You shot that thing that looked like my son so I wouldn’t have to.” Her voice shook. “I know you couldn’t have seen it and done nothing. But it’s the doubt. And I have no fucking idea how to cope with this!” Jody’s chest heaved, her frustration and anger obvious. Sam wanted to soothe her, but he didn’t know how. His eyes dropped. He began to fiddle with the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling at the drawstrings.

“When I was six months old, a demon with yellow eyes who called himself Azazael, fed me demon blood.” He didn’t look up at her sharp intake of breathe but he still flinched. “When I was twenty-two, I started having these dreams. I saw my girlfriend burning on the ceiling again and again and again until it happened and she died like my mom did. They were visions. They got stronger and more frequent.” Jody watched him, saying nothing, her eyes dark and unreadable in the shadows. He closed his eyes, the inward curl of his shoulders speaking of exhaustion, of defeat. 

“They hurt like nothing I’d ever felt before. Azazael said it was his gift to me, but it was more like a curse.” He shuffled his feet as the memories flowed through his mind, edges so sharp, he didn’t realise they had cut him until his head began to throb. “It was a weakness, not a blessing.”

“But when we killed him, when _Dean_ killed him …” His eyes opened, got caught on Jody’s, who had moved closer to him. “The visions stopped.” Sam shrugged. “I always thought that my ability to have visions was tied to his blood and because he was dead, that ability vanished.” 

He didn’t mention Ruby or drinking her blood. Didn’t mention that year of believing he was right when he was so wrong, and all the years after where he tried to atone for everything he had done but it would never be enough. Sam wanted to tell her everything, pour out the black tar that stuck to the inside of his lungs, spread it at her feet, and let her judge him worthy. Let her see his sulphur-stained blood and peel back his skin to reveal the tender pink flesh so she could scrub it clean. Or so she could know where his scars lay so she could press into them, and make him relive old wounds, old fights. 

“I must have had some latent talent, I have no idea.” He didn’t look her, but watched her feet edge towards him out of the corner of his eye. He crossed his arms over his chest, to hug himself and rub some warmth into his skin; he was suddenly chilled to the bone.

“I had these headaches yesterday. I knew what the pain meant, but I …” He swallowed, ashamed. “I pretended that I was dehydrated and hungry. And then I drank so I would have a good excuse for the pain.” 

“Sam—”Jody was closer, her tears now dried, but he could almost make out the tracks they made down her cheeks. 

He continued, his mouth spilling out whatever secrets it could. He didn’t want her to be afraid.

“The more I drank, the more I saw, or, or I thought I saw. There was this voice and darkness, a hand. I passed out and then I was running, screaming, running away, from, from, from—”Jody stepped towards him and his eyes jerked up. Her arms lifted but at his flinch, they dropped. Now that the light was splashed on her face more fully, Sam could see that her eyes were big and dark, lips bitten and the corners of her mouth turned down. 

“Anyway. I woke up, at the bottom of that hill, and when I made it up to the top, I was struck with a vision. I think Castiel was forcing them on me, using whatever powers he has left to make me see that Dean is alive.” Sam felt energy crackle along his spine, moving restlessly in him. 

“We need to find him, Jody.” 

Jody stood right in front of him now, eyes round and glittering. 

“Do you believe me?” he whispered, feeling like a lost child, his voice small. Jody leaned forward, placing a hand on his neck, her thumb rubbing up and down the twitching muscle. “Jody, please. I have to find him and get him back.” 

She brought up her other hand to tuck his hair behind his ear, her touch gentle. Her face opened up with her mouth sloping upwards softly in a reassuring smile and Sam was breathless, tension rolling from him with each of her hands on him, one against his neck, his cheek cupped in the other. 

“I believe you, Sam. Of course I do.”

He let out a relieved breath. “So you’ll stay.”

“Yes. I’m going to stay.” She pulled his head down to him and Sam let her, his back curving downwards while Jody stood up on her toes to meet him halfway. She kissed his cheek, a brush of her lips against his flushing skin, before she leant up and placed a lingering kiss on his forehead. His arms unfolded from their tight grip and fell, landing on Jody’s waist. Her hips fit snugly into the palm of his hands, his fingers wrapping around so his fingertips pressed into her back. Her lips moved away but Sam imagined he could still feel them, his skin tingling, the buzz of hope spreading out through him. Sam realised how tall she was, her head coming up just under his chin when he pulled her into a tight embrace. Her eyelashes brushed his neck and he felt her breath against his collarbone. Her hands slid down his chest to wrap around his waist. The longer they stood, the more his limbs became weighed down with exhaustion, until he was all but leaning on Jody.

She pushed back from him with a grunt and Sam shifted his weight. “We’re going to find Dean, I know we are.” 

Sam smiled gratefully down at her, too weary now to do more than that. She gave him a gentle push in the direction of the bed and he stumbled backwards. Pain flared in his feet.

“Go to sleep,” she ordered him and his fingers tightened around her hips. She looked up at him, eyes knowing, a twinkle emerging from their depths. “I’d use my Mom-voice,” she smirked, “but somehow, I doubt that would help.” 

Sam gaped down at her and she rolled her eyes.

“I’m not blind, Sam. Now off to bed with you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he saluted and gave Jody his own smirk as a flush worked up her neck. She cleared her throat.

“Yes, well,” she pushed out, voice slightly husky, and Sam shivered in anticipation. She turned on her heel, walking across the room to the front door.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked her, voice coming out more frantic that he wished.

“To bring in the rest of the boxes filled with Bobby’s books.” Jody sent him a look. “ _Someone_ wasn’t here to help me carry all these heavy things when I arrived.” She pointed at him as she stepped through the door. “Off to bed, young man.”

Sam limped to bedroom with a smile on his face and slumped onto the bed, his cock half-hard.

~*~

_Dean’s reaching out to him, hand grasping for his, as red-eyed monsters prowl around. Something has got Dean’s leg and Sam can’t reach him, his yells swallowed up by the snapping, violent, growls emitted from drooling, fanged mouths. Red eyes come closer and Dean’s widen, green bright and shocked._

_Blood gushes, ruby-red and thick, covering Dean’s pale, desperate face –_

Sam sucked in a gasping breath, the room dark around him, shadows swirling and blankets cocooning him in a sweltering heat. Sweat clung to him. He twisted, moving his feet to kick the blankets off of him, panic soaking his mind and turning his heartbeat into a rabbiting staccato beat. 

“Hush, Sam,” a voice whispered from beside him, quiet and filled with such caring that he slipped back down into the sheets, tension winding down. A cool palm rested against his forehead as Jody continued murmuring soothing words. As her fingers curled up into his hair, brushing it from his face, the vestiges of Dean screaming his name faded to dull, incoherent sounds at the back of his head. Sam slid back into a dreamless sleep.

~*~

Sam awakened slowly, curled around the warm body beside him, arms tucked around a waist. His thoughts swam through his head, lazy and content. He was well-rested. He ignored the red eyes and blood that were digging into his memory, the space in the bed too peaceful to be disturbed. 

Moving closer to the warm body beside him, a heavy pulse thumped through him. He twisted his hips, pressing close to get some relief. A sigh escaped him, Sam rolling his hips gently, feeling lazy and indolent. But when the body pushed back into him and a groan spilled from his lips, he realised who he was spooning with and all but scrambled out of the bed. The sheets and blankets got tangled around his legs, causing Jody, who was lying on top them, to grunt in displeasure. Sam froze, only barely off the bed, left leg tucked up beneath him and his right foot grazing the ground, eyes fixed on Jody as she turned to him. As she blinked awake, she smiled up at him, stretching her arms above her head. Her breasts pressed up against her t-shirt, the swell and sway of them making his mouth water. At her sleepy call of “Sam?” he jerked and stood up, words pouring out of his mouth.

“Gotta go, bathroom, you know, sorry.” And then he fled, pain flaring in his feet and then fading to dull ache with each step he took. Once in the bathroom, the door shut behind him, he glared down accusingly at his cock pushing up against the soft material of his sweatpants. 

His feet stung and his head was beginning to pound. Sam slumped onto the toilet seat, head tilted back to lean against the wall. Jody’s diligent care of his feet meant that they no longer hurt him like they had done the night before. He hadn’t eaten since early yesterday evening, he thought with a twist to his mouth, and what he had eaten, he had already thrown up. 

He stood up and turned on the shower, twisting the knob so the spray blasted down to bounce off the cream tiles. Sam turned the temperature to as low as it went, yanked off his sweatpants, his head protesting at the sharp and sudden movements, and stepped into the water. He let out at yelp at the freezing chill that surrounded him. He gritted his teeth and stood there, enduring it. The water pounded on his shoulders and the back of his neck, the icy water making numbness spread through him and up into his head, easing the headache. 

By the time he stepped out of the shower, he was shivering with icy numbness and his cock was soft against his thigh. The bandages on his feet squished and he pulled a face, nose scrunching up. He wrapped the still damp towel from the day before around his hips, knotting it, and made his way out of the bathroom and into the main room, where Jody stood by the sink with her back to him, the sounds of chopping coming from in front of her.

He cleared his throat and Jody turned towards him, her mouth open to greet him. But when she looked at him, her eyes darkened, and Sam realised with an embarrassed flush that he was wearing nothing but his towel. He watched Jody’s eyes looked him up and down, her stare heavy with heated appraisal. He felt droplets of water fall from his hair to his chest and trickle down, eliciting a small shiver. 

The air felt heavy around him, pressing into him and urging him forwards, towards Jody. His eyes snapped to Jody’s mouth as her tongue sneaked out to swipe her top lip. He nearly let out a groan as she bit down on her bottom one, rolling it between her teeth. It slid out of her mouth, red and swollen. 

Sam had his arms tight around Jody’s waist and his mouth devouring hers before he even realised what he was doing. He was starved and she tasted so delicious, he couldn’t stop, sliding his tongue against and licking up over the ridges on the roof of her mouth. Her gasp was stifled by their moving lips, swallowed by the slick sounds they were making. Jody’s hands skimmed up his neck and into his hair, wrapping the strands around her fingers and pulling. Sam groaned, mouth parted and chest heaving. Jody reached up and bit down hard on his bottom lip, the pain shooting through him in the most fantastic of ways.

When Jody pulled back, his lip throbbed. 

“Well,” Jody breathed out. “Happy morning to you too.” 

He hummed in agreement, hands dragging up and down her back. She planted a kiss on the corner of his jaw, slipping her hands out of his hair.

“We’ll never get anything done if you continue to look at me like that. Get! You need to dress and I have to re-do the bandages on your feet. I’ll come in when you’ve changed.” Her hands rested on his chest, fingers smoothing up and down the skin. She didn’t move and neither did Sam. Over her shoulder, Sam spied a bowl of fruit sitting on the counter, a half-chopped up banana resting on the chopping board. 

He cleared his throat. Jody blushed, stepping away from him. “The things you do to a girl, Sam,” she murmured as she turned back to finish making their breakfast. Pride swelled in his chest, grin spreading across his face. 

Sam squelched his way back into the bedroom. When he was dressed, hair still wet and dripping down his neck to dampen the collar of his top, he sat on the only partially made bed. The headache that had plagued him earlier, which he had briefly forgotten about during their kiss, resurged with a vengeance. He didn’t have to wait long before Jody came in, medical kit in her hands. She brought the waste basket over after she put the kit on the bed. He scooted back up the bed, immediately propping his feet on her lap when she sat down, pulling an abrupt and startled laugh from her. It felt good, being able to make someone laugh so freely

Jody removed the soggy bandages and dumped them in the waste basket, noise crinkling at the damp feel of them in her hands. Sam looked at her face and felt a huge rush of affection.

“The cuts look better than yesterday. The swelling and bruising has gone down. But,” she said sternly, pointing a warning finger at him, “no walking about the place for today. You stay on the bed or at the table in the other room. No wondering outside in the great outdoors.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes at him before continuing to put new bandages on his feet. Within quick minutes, his feet were wrapped up and dry, Jody giving her handiwork an assessing eye and then packing up the medical kit. He flexed his feet, only a dull ache to show for his screaming run the evening before. 

“Up you get,” Jody called over her shoulder. “I’ve painkillers for you and breakfast here on the table, I’m not bringing it to you.”

“But I am invalid!” He folded his arms, pouting indignantly.

“And I am not your mother.” With that, she disappeared into the other room, leaving Sam to heave himself up onto his feet and follow her, a shiver running down his back. He could hear Jody moving things about, water being poured, the clatter of dishes and glasses being put on the table. As he made his way to sit at the table, he noticed that she had moved his laptop, and Dean’s, on top of the pile of books on the coffee table, and the beer bottles that had been lined up like soldiers by the sink were gone, marched out into the garbage. 

A bowl of fruit drizzled with honey sat on the middle of the table, with two bowls on opposite sides. Sam sat down at the place that had two Advil sitting by a full glass of water. He swallowed them and finished off the glass of water, headache squeezing his temples. Jody rummaged around in the fridge for a moment before sitting down herself.

“All you had was fruit, and I didn’t bring much else besides.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. Sam didn’t mind. 

They ate quickly, without words. It was good food, filling Sam up as his hunger made itself known. He had seconds and ended up finishing the bowl when Jody gestured at him. He flashed an embarrassed grin and gulped down the last few pieces of banana. Jody leaned back in her chair, staring at him.

“What?” He resisted the urge to tuck his shoulders in so he could make himself appear smaller.

“Nothing,” she said nonchalantly, idly drumming her fingers on the table. “Just wondering how long it’s going to take you to figure out you’re on washing up duty.”

“Ugh, fine, you slave driver.” Sam made a show of piling all the dishes and forks together, lumbering up to his feet and lurching over to the sink. Jody laughed at him. He turned on the hot tap, grabbing the bottle of washing up liquid that he knew she had left for him by the sink. It only took him a few minutes to clean up. He left the dishes on beside the sink to dry after washing them and when he turned back around to face Jody, her eyes jerked up from where they had been staring at his ass. 

“I can keep facing the sink, if you want.” He raised an eyebrow. He relished the pink flush that stained her cheeks. 

“I think I saw enough,” she replied. 

“Oh, really? Are you sure? I mean, it’s no trouble, I can even bend over the counter,” he said, his face set into an earnest expression, his eyes big and wide. He paused and then promptly ruined the charade with the teasing smirk that pulled at his lips. 

Jody looked up at him, a promise twinkling in her eyes that told him _later_ , but she spoke in rueful tone. “You do paint a pretty picture, but I think we have business to attend to.”

“Yeah, I guess we do.” Sam swung his gaze around the room to encompass all the books scattered about. There were too many of them. Black threads of despair began to tighten around him. He let them dig into him for a long moment and then shook them off. He had work to do.

“Let’s get to it.”

He started looking through the boxes piled up with books placed against the wall.

“What books did you bring?” Sam asked Jody. He heard movement behind him, the legs of the chair scraping along the floor.

“Everything I could find on Purgatory, just as you told me, anything on the Leviathan, books that spoke of finding someone who couldn’t be found by usual methods.”

Sam looked over at her in surprise. “Finding someone?”

Jody nodded. 

“Bobby had a lot of spell books. I have no idea what he was doing with that many, but Bobby always had a plan.” She smiled fondly and then shrugged. “I grabbed what I could find that could help.”

“Good call, Jody.” Sam watched his fingers curl tightly over the frayed edges of the old book he had in his hands. He let out a heavy breath.

“Right, first off, we’re looking for confirmation about whether or not the Leviathan return to Purgatory when they die.”

Jody made a questioning, confused sound. “But why Purgatory? Are you sure that’s where Dean is?”

Sam spun around to face her. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s either that or a true death, never coming back, but since Cas sent me that vision so they have to be alive.” His voice was slightly raised. She didn’t flinch away from him. 

“Sam, you know he’s alive. The only other option is Purgatory, you said so yourself. Why do you need to be so sure?” Jody reached out a hand and this time, he didn’t move away from it. She wrapped it around Sam’s wrist.

“Because this time I can’t fuck it up,” he told her, “I have to do everything right. I have to be _sure_.” He placed his other hand over Jody’s and squeezed it. “I can’t lose him. I have to get him back.”

“Okay, Sam.” She rubbed her thumb along the inside of his wrist. He flashed back to the night before and shivered. Jody frowned and bit her lip. “What if,” she said slowly,” we could find a description of Purgatory? You saw it in your vision, right?”

Sam closed his eyes and remembered darkness, gnarled trees and shadows that slithered along the ground hungrily, mist that weaved between trees, tasting of ash, and red eyes that burned with menace, glinting all around him. He swallowed roughly. And then something slotted into place. His eyes sprang open. 

“Saint Fursa.” He dropped Jody’s hands and whirling around to search through the books. 

“Umm, Saint who?”

“Saint Fursa, or Fursey,” Sam replied. “An Irish abbot from the seventh century who was canonised. He was one of the first to have visions about Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. He wrote it all down,” he said as he rifled through the box in front of him. “I remember him speaking of mists and ash and fire.” He shook his head. “There’s a small diary written in Latin. It’s incredibly old so Bobby kept it in a sealed box after we found it in the Campbell’s secret library.”

“What the hell are you – I have no idea if I br – oh my god, I did.” Jody rushed over to the pile of books she had put on the coffee table the previous evening and shuffled through them.

“Aha!” she cried triumphantly, holding a box gingerly in her hands. She brushed light fingers over the carved lid. “That’s why I brought it,” she told Sam. “The lid was engraved. _Saint Fursa, Visons of Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory_.”

Sam took it from her gently. He sat down at the table, placing the box on the surface. Jody pulled her chair around to sit beside him so she could read over his shoulder. She grinned at him. He opened up the lid, revealing the ancient diary nestled in a burgundy velvet cushion. He picked up the tweezers that had been tucked into the side of the box and cautiously began turning the pages, not daring to even breathe on them.

“This dairy,” he said, hushed, “talks about Fursa’s visions primarily, if I remember right. The ones about Heaven and Hell are surprisingly accurate, so his vision about Purgatory should give us some indication if the place I saw was the same.” He kept turning the pages, skimming the words, translating the Latin with little difficulty. He could feel Jody pressed up beside him, her warmth bleeding into his side.

“’I could distinguish nothing but a sinister shadow, an incompact mass of dreadful shapes, enough to make the soul wither away with fear,’” he read out to her.

“Demons.” 

Sam nodded, turning a few more pages. “Here, it says that on his return to his body from his vision, he was engulfed in a billowing fire that threatened to burn him, surrounded by a cloud of ash that threatened to choke him, ’for it stretches out each one according to their merits… for just as the body burns through unlawful desire, so the body will burn, as the lawful, due penalty for every sin.’”

He felt frustration rise up in him and his hands tightened their grip on the tweezers until he felt his hands tremble. This wasn’t enough, he thought.

“There must be other books we can look at,” Jody suggested. “Other visions.” Sam shook his head.

“After the fourteenth century, and even before then, Purgatory is described differently. There are seven levels matching the seven sins, and it all stems from Dante. We know Purgatory is the place where the souls of monsters go so there would be no need for levels that ascribe to the human idea of sin.” He looked over at Jody. “And that’s not what I saw.” He turned back to the diary. “I know there’s more here.” 

He began flicking the pages quicker, with more urgency.

“Sam.” Jody placed her hand on his wrist, stilling it. “Be careful. This diary is ancient, old enough to be priceless. And what would Bobby say if you ripped it?”

“He’d probably rip me a new one and then disown me,” Sam joked, chuckling. He inhaled deeply and pushed his frustration, his anger, his despair, down deep enough inside of him that in that moment, he could pretend they didn’t exist.

“Thank you,” he murmured. Jody gave his wrist a gentle squeeze.

”You’re welcome.”

Several long moments passed as Sam read through the diary more thoroughly. Jody stood up and went into the bedroom, coming back with a leather-bound journal in her hands. She gave him a quick smile before she settled down on the couch to read. He could concentrate better, with someone else in the room, another person breathing alongside him. 

Thirty minutes or so passed and then Sam was dropping the tweezers in shock.

“Holy shit, I knew it!” 

Quick as a flash, Jody was beside him, her own book dropping the floor with a thud in her haste. “What did you find?” she breathed out in a question.

“So Fursa, after he had recovered from his visions, speaks of going to this cave on an Island somewhere in Ireland. And get this: the island is known as St. Patrick’s Purgatory and this cave is, according to Fursa, the entrance to Purgatory.” Sam had to close his eyes against the possibility, overwhelmed. He cleared his throat, opening them and continuing. 

“Now, Fursa performs a ritual of some sort, he doesn’t specify what kind of ritual, damn him, and the entrance to Purgatory is opened.” He couldn’t believe that he had never read through this entire thing. He would have saved himself so much trouble. “He writes ‘and a wind rushed through the cave, smelling of ash and death, pulling me in to a dark place where red eyes waited for my immortal soul, as twisted shadows reached towards me.’” 

Sam turned to Jody. “Red eyes. I saw red eyes, shadows that grasped for me and the air smelt like ash.”

Jody looked at him with wide eyes. “So they’re definitely in Purgatory. And we may have found the entrance?”

“They’re in Purgatory,” he confirmed, “and we’ve found _another_ entrance although we have no idea how to open it.” 

“Oh my god.” Jody pressed her fingers against her mouth.

“Now if only Fursa could say what this damned ritual is, then we’d be sorted and I’d have Dean back.” Restlessness stirred inside him and he wanted to leap around, to run and snarl. He could see red eyes laughing at him, taunting him. _You’ll never find it. You’ll never get him back,_ they seemed to say and ice shivered down his spine because why couldn’t that voice leave him alone.

“Sam,” Jody said, alarmed. He realised he was pacing the kitchen, pulling at his hair. He lowered his arms and stared at his hands as if they didn’t belong to him. All of a sudden he couldn’t recognise them. There were parts of himself that Sam no longer knew, twisted and broken parts with jagged edges that hid from the light and came out in the darkness to torture him. He didn’t stop pacing, this mindless energy that kept driving him on with the need to fight, the need to draw blood, the need to fuck, to rut into the ground until he was spent and limp.

Abruptly, Jody was in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. She cupped his cheeks with both hands, thumbs smoothing along the dark circles under his eyes. Her gaze was searching and her face shifted with a dawning realisation that made Sam feel stripped down and bare.

“What did you see,” she wondered, “to remind you of the awful thing you can’t forget because it tortures you?” Sam flinched, trying to pull away from her soft touch, but she followed him and would not let go. A wordless keen rose up in his throat and he felt trapped in his own skin, a cage of flesh and bone. All he could remember were cages, of ice, of fire, of chains, of dreams, of nightmares, of reality. He belonged in a cage.

“Oh, Sam, no you don’t.” 

And when she kissed him, Sam realised that he had spoken that thought aloud. Her lips were soft beneath his, pushing all those memories away, and he reached his hands to hold onto her waist. She pulled him against her and heat flared in him. This was so much better than letting the dark spaces inside him swallow him whole.

“Please,” he breathed against her panting mouth. “Can I fuck you? Can I touch every inch of you? Can I lick your clit until you come screaming?” 

He felt her shudder in his arms. “Yes, oh, fuck yes.”

Sam kissed her again, deeper and more filthy, thrusting his tongue into her mouth the same way he would soon be thrusting his cock into her cunt. _Make me forget_ , he thought, as he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. He carried her into the bedroom, kissing her all the while. _Make me forget_.

He laid her down on the bed hovering over her, propped up on her elbows. Jody, with her legs around him, dragged him down so he pressed into her. He could feel the heat of her bleeding through the denim of her jeans. He groaned, jerking his hips to grind against her. The jeans cut into his thighs, restricting his movement, and the zipper was pressed uncomfortably against his hardening cock. But Jody moaned beneath him and brought her hands up to twine through his hair.

“Stay here with me.” She bit at his lips and Sam bit hers in return. She licked across his swollen mouth and he gasped at the shock of sensation. His hips pushed into hers and it hurt, his cock stuck in the confines of his jeans but he couldn’t fathom the idea of stopping. Her lips were as swollen as his but lush with it. Their tongues brushed against each other and he shivered, felt her shiver beneath him. She coaxed his tongue into her mouth and sucked on it. Her mouth was hot and sweet and slick. He pulled back from her and gazed down at her flushed face, her darkened eyes. He brought a hand up to her stomach and pushed up her top.

“Off,” he growled.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” She grinned, teasing. 

Sam pushed himself back on his knees, stripping off his top. Jody reached up to caress his chest, her eyes hot. She pinched and rolled his nipples, and he let his head fall back with a gasp.

“Interesting,” she murmured. She moved her hands, leaning back to remove her t-shirt. Sam cupped her breasts. He thumbed her nipples, stiff beneath the fabric of her bra. 

“Get those jeans off,” she demanded. 

He shifted away, lifting his hips and pulling off his jeans and boxers. Jody was getting naked beside him. He pressed his hands against his cock as she lay down on her back, legs spread so he could see her, her curls damp and her cunt glistening.

“You shouldn’t keep a girl waiting.” Her hand reached down between her legs to rub at her clit. She moaned and Sam pressed harder against himself, panting.

“You promised to make me scream.”

“I did,” he said, crawling over her. He captured her hand and moved it up to his mouth, watering for a taste. He sucked her fingers into his mouth, licking at the salty-sourness. She tasted good. 

“Oh yes.” Jody’s eyes were glazed. With a final suck, Sam removed her hand and pressed it into the mattress. He pressed smiling kisses down her throat. He bit and sucked on the tendon, her hips bucking.

“Fucker,” she grit out. Sam didn’t stop smiling as he moved his hands to her breasts, spreading his fingers over them and squeezing. Her nipples were a dusky pink. He ducked to suck one into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue, while playing with the other with his hand. Jody groaned and writhed in pleasure.

“Oh fuck, fuck yes, Sam, Sam, Sam,” she gasped out as he sucked and bit and pulled. He moved to her other nipple only when the sounds falling from her mouth began to carry an edge of pain. Soon, Jody was almost incoherent. Her legs were clasped tightly around Sam’s hips and her hips twisted and jerked, constantly seeking friction. She kept brushing up against his cock, sending sparks dancing along Sam’s skin. He released her nipple and looked down at their redness with a wolfish grin. 

Sam kissed down her stomach, licking around her bellybutton and then pressing soft, feathery kisses along her inner thighs. Jody swore in frustration, her eyes heavy-lidded and dark, pupils blown.

“Get on with it,” she begged. 

He smiled up at her, nothing but teeth and curled his fingers into her, relishing the noise she made. He rubbed his thumb around his clit and bit his lip as she jerked. He kept rubbing and she clenched around his fingers. Her hips began circling, grinding down onto his hand. Sam clamped his other arm across her stomach, bringing his hand down to spread her labia, so he could see her hard clit. He moved his thumb away, lowering his head to wrap his lips around it and suck. Jody’s hands came down to grab his hair, pulling the strands hard. His cock throbbed between his legs and he ground his hips into the mattress to get some relief.

Sam licked and sucked and teased her clit, his fingers thrusting in and out of her.

“More, harder.” Jody pulled at his hair.

He slid three fingers into her cunt and her slick ran down his wrist. He pointed his tongue and flicked it over her clit, alternating with broad, flat stokes and hard, deep sucks. Her thighs trembled and her fingers clenched tighter in his hair.

“I’m going to come,” she panted. “Oh fuck, oh Jesus. Damn you, Sam. Sam!”

He felt her squeeze around his fingers and she came with a loud shout, clit jumping beneath his tongue. She twisted and shoved her hips on his fingers, cunt fluttering. He let her ride his face, his nose full of the rich smell of her, as she drew out her orgasm. Eventually, she went slack, aftershocks twitching through her. Sam pulled out his fingers with a squelching sound, wiping them on the comforter as he licked his lips clean.

“Come here,” she said, out of breath and chest heaving. She pulled him down to kiss him, languid and sated. She moaned, this little noise of satisfaction that had Sam grinding his cock against her thigh. He could feel her grinning against his mouth.

“Guess we better take care of that,” Jody said. Sam allowed himself to be rolled over onto his back. She settled on top of him. He could feel her wet and hot against his stomach, and he grabbed her thighs, filled with the burning need to fuck into her and never stop. She shuffled down, reaching behind to wrap a hand around his cock, stroking him lightly. Sam moaned, flushing, toes curling. 

“I’m going to suck you later,” she said, bringing the head of his cock to rest against her cunt. “I’m going to blow you, try to get all that cock in my mouth, down my throat.” Jody lowered herself, sliding slowly down his cock. She closed her eyes, looking blissed out and Sam was unable to take his eyes off of her. She was so warm and wet around him, he could feel his orgasm beginning to pool at the base of his spine. She lowered herself fully, pressed flush against Sam.

“Fuck,” Jody groaned. “Knew you’d be big, knew you’d stretch me and fill me right up.” His mind was melting at her words, his whole body hot and shivering with it. He was bare inside of her and he couldn’t think.

“I can feel you, so hot and hard. I love having a bare cock inside me, want to feel you come in me, get me sloppy and wet.” Jody lifted herself up and then slammed down, her breasts bouncing. Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head as she squeezed around him. She kept up the slow but brutal rhythm, her hands pressed against his chest for leverage, filth spilling from her mouth. He needed more.

Sam grabbed her waist, bent his knees and thrust hard up into her, pulling a choked moan out of her.

“Oh fuck, oh _Jesus_.” Her nails dug into the skin of his chest. 

Sam didn’t speak, shoving up into her as deep as he could, trying to push himself inside her. He could feel his balls drawing up tight, his nerves crackling as he became overwhelmed with sensation, tossing his head against the pillow. Jody reached down a hand to touch herself and then she was coming around him again with a hoarse cry.

“Do it, do it, do it,” she chanted, eyes looking straight at him, piercing. “Come inside me.”

And then he was coming like a bullet, pleasure rushing through each and every pore, sparking up along his spine. He grunted, groaned, panted, his legs twitching. His orgasm crashed through him in waves, pushing everything back until, for that brief moment, Sam could forget.


	3. Chapter 3

A finger poking into his ribs startled Sam awake.

“Come on, lazy boots, time to get up.” Jody leaned over him with a smile as he blinked his eyes open. Her fingers stopped poking him, instead her hand smoothed down his side and wrapped around his hip. Sam returned her smile, propping himself up on his elbows.

“I fell asleep?” he asked and she laughed at him.

“Oh yeah, for about an hour. You rolled over and started snoring as soon as you slipped out of me.”

Sam flushed bright red with embarrassment. He brought a hand up to cover his eyes, his cheeks overwarm beneath his palm. “Oh God,” he said, mortified, “I am so sorry.”

Jody pushed his hand away from his face, her face soft and fond. “You were tired, so I let you get away with it.” Her eyes twinkled, her mouth curling up into a teasing grin. “Beside, you looked so adorable with your mouth open and drooling.” 

She pinched his cheek and Sam slapped her hand away, giving her a mock glare. Jody slipped her other hand beneath his arm to tickle him and he jerked, collapsing down onto the bed. Sam burst out into high-pitched giggles as she tickled him, twisting on the bed, trying to escape her fingers. There was nothing but space inside his chest, light and bright.

He had a plan and he had someone. He would get Dean back and his world would right itself.

Jody was laughing hard. Her fingers stuttered to a stop, giving Sam the chance to pounce. He grabbed her arms and moved to pin her beneath him. She looked up at him with warm eyes and he leaned down, his mouth hovering over hers for a moment before pressing a kiss onto her lips. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as soon as he let them go, pulling him down on top of her, her mouth opening beneath his. He lost himself in the kiss for a moment, in the sliding of tongues, of wet heat drinking him in, and sweet little bites tugging at his lower lip. Her naked body brushed up against his, the small moans Jody made winding him up, making him want to press harder, to kiss deeper. He dragged his lips down her jawline to her ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. He traced the shell of her ear, breathing heavily. Jody shuddered in his arms, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him into her and he could feel how wet she was, brushing up against his cock.

And then he remembered.

“We didn’t use a condom,” he breathed out in shock, pulling back. Jody opened her eyes and stared at him in disbelief, cheeks flushed and eyes dark.

“Are you --? Sam, I am on the pill. I would not have put your dick in my otherwise. Now can we please get back to the kissing and the breathing in my ear? I want to get fucked and then I want to blow you.” She arched a brow at his face, which was slack-jawed with speechlessness. 

“C’mon, get that hard cock in me,” she demanded, reaching down to smack his ass. 

His hips bucked and he pressed up against her. Jody’s eyes fluttered shut, spurring him into movement. He grabbed hold of his cock, running his thumb over the head and dragging his hand down the shaft, grunting. He shifted forward, placing the very tip of his cock at the wet entrance of her cunt and then leaned back over her. He kissed her, deep and wet and filthy, thrusting his tongue into her as he thrust his hips into hers. She moaned and shoved herself down.

Jody was still wet from earlier. Wet with his come, Sam realised with a jerk of his hips. He gave her one last lingering kiss before pulling back to his knees, hands on her waist and holding her on his lap. She let out a deep groan at the change in angle and her hands came up to play with her breasts, fingers plucking and rolling her nipples. 

“More,” she said, biting her lips. 

He slammed into her, their earlier bout of fucking telling him that she liked it hard and fast. He looked down at his cock as it slide out of her and then thrust back in, wet and shiny with her slick and his come. He felt his body flush, heat pouring through him, centring around his groin.

“Oh fuck,” he mumbled between gasps. This reaction was something new. 

He fucked Jody harder and the sounds coming from her became louder, more desperate. He moved his hands to her upper thighs, thumbs pulling back her folds to spread her open, so he could look at her clit, flushed red and hard, jumping with each thrust. He watched, eyes devouring her, as Jody sucked two fingers into her mouth and then slid her hand down her stomach to touch herself. She touched her clit gently at first, little flicks of her fingers but she began rubbing harder. Sam could feel her clenching around him, squeezing tight. Her eyes were shut, her lip tucked into her mouth, her forehead creased with effort. He pulled out so only the head of his cock rested in her and she growled in frustration, opening her eyes to glare at him. 

Sam gave her a wicked grin and pulled her hips up high. He slammed into her, his pelvis pressing into her fingers, pushing them down on her clit and she was coming with a hoarse scream, convulsing around him. He kept fucking her, drawing her orgasm out until she pushed him away, her hand flapping and her chest heaving as she sucked in air. His cock slid out of her with a wet noise and he uncurled his fingers from around her thighs. They were trembling. Sam brushed a hand along the soft skin, making Jody sigh. 

“That was a good one.” She arched her back, her face relaxed in pleasure. 

Sam’s cock was hard and red, the tip almost purple, standing up away from his body and begging to be touched. He wanted to come. He wrapped his hand around it and stroked it slowly, hand gliding smoothly up and down. He tried to stifle his gasp at the feel of it, his hips jerking, but he didn’t succeed. 

Jody looked over at him and crooked a finger. He shuffled towards her, anticipation building inside him as she grabbed the pillows and rearranged them so that they propped her head and neck up.

“Come here,” she said and Sam leaned down to kiss her, lips pressing together. “Not quite what I meant, but I’ll take it.”

“I don’t, umm.” Sam’s brow creased in confusion. 

She tapped his right thigh. “This leg over and hands on the headboard.” He brought his leg over so he was straddling her chest, hands gripping the wooden headboard. Fireworks sparked up his spine.

“Oh God, Jody, are you sure?”

“Fuck yes,” she said, licking her lips and bringing a hand to wrap around his cock. Her other hand came up to his hip, tugging him forward until his cock was close enough to her mouth that she could dart out her tongue to taste. She swirled her tongue around the head, hand tight around him. He shuddered. She dragged her tongue along the slit and his hips shoved forward.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, we can stop,” he said, pulling back.

“Sam, Sam, I’m fine. Come here. I am not a child, I know what I want and you won’t hurt me.” 

Sam moved forward. 

“Closer, you silly boy, as close as you can.” 

She looked up at him with hungry eyes. “I want to get your cock as far down my throat as possible.” 

Sam nodded, his throat dry. She kept her eyes locked with his as she sucked the head of his cock into her mouth. Her hands wrapped around his hips and pulled him forward. His eyes wanted to roll back into his head at the wet heat, but he couldn’t look away.

Jody traced her tongue along the underside of the shaft and a shiver ran through him at the feel of it. With her hands on his hips, she controlled his movement and he followed her lead, going wherever she wanted him to go. He let go and allowed himself to bask in the sensation of getting his brain sucked out through his cock.

Sam’s knuckles were white with how tight he was gripping the headboard. His hips rolled sinuously beneath Jody’s hands and he could feel everything building up inside of him. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, “like that, Jody, oh yeah, just like that.”

She hummed and his hips stuttered, disrupting the fluid movement. She pulled his back in, sucking deeply and he groaned. He was unspooling, unravelling, and he never wanted this to stop. His orgasm built and built beneath his skin, filling him up until he thought he might explode from it.

“I’m close,” he whispered, eyes stuck on hers. 

She yanked his hips towards her, swallowing him as deep as she could. With her throat working around his cock, Sam catapulted over the edge, coming hard, his mouth opening with a soundless yell. His arms and legs shook as Jody drank him dry, not spilling a single drop.

“Goddamn,” he gasped, shuddering through his orgasm. “You are far too good at this.” Jody winked at him and Sam laughed. 

She continued sucking him as he went soft in her mouth, until it was too much for Sam to bear. He pulled back, cock slipping out of her mouth with a wet pop, dragging spit and come down the side of her chin. He lifted his leg over and then collapsed down on the bed beside her, watching as she wiped her chin clean. Her lips were red and puffed up. He leaned over to lick at the corner of her mouth. She turned so her lips matched up against his and when Sam swept his tongue alongside hers, he could taste himself. He found that he didn’t mind it at all.

Jody pulled back with a contented sigh. “I missed sex,” she breathed out, her hand reaching out to rub her finger along his lips and then up into his hair, scratching at his scalp. Sam all but purred at the touch.

Her smile was sad. Sam didn’t know how to deal with that, unsure of whether it was his place or not. He kissed her gently, sweetly, hand coming up to squeeze her wrist softly.

“Me too,” he said against her lips. He missed having sex with someone who knew him, who would be there the next day, who cared for him. Jody didn’t know all his secrets but she knew enough. She was here. She balanced Sam out while Dean was missing. He pressed a kiss under each eye and then lingered over the kiss he placed on her forehead.

Jody sucked in a shaky breath and then blew it out.

“Shower time,” she said. When her eyes met his, they were clear. She looked him up and down, then wrinkled her nose. “You need one more than me.”

“Are you saying I smell?” Sam gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “I am hurt.” He tried to ignore the swell of gratitude towards her for not breaking down, for glossing over her grief. 

“I never said anything of the sort.” She blinked innocently. 

Sam gave a haughty sniff. “I can tell when I’m not wanted.” He clambered out of the bed, his legs still weak. As he walked by her, Jody slapped his ass. He whirled around to find her looking the other way, _whistling_. 

“I’m onto you,” he said as he strode out of the bedroom, naked with his head held high, a smile caught in the corners of his mouth. He walked into the bathroom with the sound of Jody laughing in his ears.

~*~

Freshly showered and in clean clothes, Sam was back at the table in the kitchen, the box with Fursa’s diary closed shut and his laptop open in front of him. Jody was in the shower, singing, and the odd note floated out to him. He had reread the section about Fursa opening the entrance to Purgatory several times, but he couldn’t find any hints about what ritual he used. Scouring the internet gave him nothing either. 

He sighed heavily with the realisation that they would have to go to Ireland. He had discovered that St. Patrick’s Purgatory was located on Station Island in this lake called Lough Derg, somewhere in the north of Ireland. In Donegal. 

Did they have any contacts in Ireland? Not that Sam could recall. He’d have to check Bobby’s books, his old journals. And even then, who knows if he could find anything in time.

So far, his plan was to get there and then wing it. He figured it wasn’t the worst thing he had ever come up with, but it certainly wasn’t the best. He pushed his hair back off his forehead, digging his fingers into his scalp. The shower shut off and moments later, Jody came through the door with a towel wrapped around her chest and another one around her head. He caught her eye and she walked over, bringing a hand down to his shoulder and looking at the laptop screen.

“Anything?” she asked.

“Nothing on this ritual Fursa mentioned. In fact, I’ve found no record of his diary anywhere. I have no idea how Samuel got a hold of it.” He rubbed at the side of his neck, frustrated. Her hand slid up his shoulder so her fingers brushed the nape of his neck, pulling gently at his hair. Their fingers brushed.

“Samuel?”

He looked up at her. “He’s my grandfather.” He kept his face smooth and eyes clear, and she didn’t ask him anything more. 

“So,” he continued, “I’ve found where St. Patrick’s Purgatory is and we’re going there. Well, if you want to come with me.” He glanced at Jody out of the corner of his eyes. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to. You’ve already done enough.”

“Sam, stop it. I’m here and I’m not leaving you. We’ve already discussed this. I’m going to help you find your brother and that trenchcoat-wearing friend of yours. And then,” she said, slowly, her eyes intense and searching, her voice low, “we can decide if I should leave you.”

Sam sucked in a breath, his heart slamming up against his ribs. He hadn’t thought past getting Dean back and he was pretty sure she knew that, but if she wanted to stay, if she understood what that meant, Sam wouldn’t be able to find it within himself to say no.

“Alright,” he said, voice rough. He cleared his throat. “Alright. You’re with me until then. And when we get Dean back, and Castiel, we’ll. We’ll figure something out.”

Jody smiled down at him, a small, secret smile that made something unstick from the back of his throat. Her hand swept up his neck and she traced a thumb over the arch of his eyebrow.

“Good,” she said softly. In a brisker tone, she added, “Check how much flights are to Ireland and see if there’s anything on people becoming slow and stupid with that corn syrup.” 

As she walked into the bathroom, she spoke over her shoulder. “I really don’t want to be on a flight where the pilot is out of it, and we crash and die.”

His eyes widened. “Definitely not,” he murmured to himself as he pulled up the main news websites, his fingers jumping over the keyboard with a rapid clacking noise. Sam skimmed the headlines, eyebrows climbing higher and higher. 

“Holy crap,” he said, under his breath. People appeared to be regaining their higher functions but the damage had already been done: there had been several crashes at various airports across the United States but in most cases, the plane hadn’t even gotten off the ground, stalling in the middle of the runway as pilots stared into the middle distance. 

There was a rash of disappearances in the area surrounding Sucrocorp. Leviathan ditching the old body and consuming a new one before going into hiding, he presumed. And he knew that wasn’t even the majority of them. The clever ones would hide in plain sight by becoming someone new and living their life as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. 

But people knew something was wrong. Sam read through articles as Jody got dressed in the other room, articles that made wild accusations and ended up hitting the nail on the head, as much as it was possible; junk food was poisoning them.

He opened up new tabs, searching for information about Ireland. His mouth dropped open. Nothing. Nothing had happened; there was no information about accidents like the ones he found in local and nationwide news, only reports recounting what was happening widespread in America. 

“How is that even possible?” he asked himself. 

He jumped a little bit when Jody walked into the main room, pulling on a plaid shirt as she said, “Well?”

“As long as we use an Irish airline, we should be fine, if you can believe that.”

“Makes sense.” She pulled her hair off her face and tied it into small ponytail.

“What?”

“Think about. There’s a whole ocean between us and there. And besides, Europe has its own economy, I’m pretty sure they can survive without America. They’ve done it before,” she said with a wry smile. “And Ireland is known for its agriculture. Forty shades of green and all that.”

“What?” Sam repeated.

Jody waved a dismissive hand, shaking her head, as she began clearing up the books from the table and putting them back on the coffee table. “Never mind, it’s not that important. How much are flights?”

She puttered around the room, moving boxes back against the wall and stacking the books they’ve used back into them.

“Well?” she demanded, using her mom voice with her hands on her hips. He flushed. She smirked at him, eyes knowing. He looked back at his laptop, his fingers flying over the keyboard. He had a price in no time at all.

“Sixteen hundred dollars one way for each of us if we fly out tomorrow. Huh. That’s completely doable.” Jody made an agreeing noise from the other side of the room by the couch. 

Sam thought about the credit cards sitting in his wallet. Out of six, four were maxed out, and out of the two that were viable, only one had the same name as his fake passport, Max O’Brien. He tugged on his hair behind his ear, leaning his chin on his hand. With that second name, he could say he was visiting family. And Jody could be his. Well. She could be his girlfriend. He pulled at his left ear, hand the moving down to rub the side of his neck again as he typed in his details and booked the flights. 

“Done,” he said. He looked over at Jody and she was sitting on the couch, eyes wide and jumping over the pages of the leather bound journal she had been reading before. 

“Oh my God, holy crap.” Her voice shook. She stood up, running over to him, putting the journal in front of his and jabbing her finger against the writing on the page.

“Sam, I think I found a way for you to contact Dean. Look, there’s this spell but I have no idea what language it’s in, only the explanation at the side here that says it ‘transports your consciousness through the veil to the person you seek’. I have no idea what that means, but through the veil, that’s pretty vague, right? It could mean anything.”

Sam looked down at the page in shock. He opened his mouth and then closed it, reading the words written by a familiar hand.

“What is this?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

“Bobby’s journal,” Jody replied. “It was among the books you boys gave me. I’ve been reading it for the past few weeks, trying to understand what he did, how he did it.”

He tried to read the words, stumbling over the language. “It’s written in Irish, in Gaelige, I think.”

“What?”

His eyes were wide, his face creased in disbelief at the coincidence. His gaze caught on something written on the bottom left of the page.

“There’s a number here, and the initials D.O.B.”

“Ring it.” Jody sat down in the seat opposite him, eyes bright and mouth tense. 

Sam fumbled for his cell in his pocket, pulling it out and punching in the numbers without hesitation. He could feel his heartbeat thundering in his ears, his breath racing, his mind stumbling ahead of him. If this worked, if this was a legitimate spell, he could contact Dean. He could tell him that he was going to get him back to Earth. He was going to go in there and save him, unhook Purgatory’s claws and drag both Dean and Castiel back into the light of day, leaving those circling red eyes panting behind them with the smell of ash in the air nothing but a distant memory. He felt his chest swell with hope and didn’t care that it was dangerous to believe in coincidences.

The phone rang in his ear for several long moments and Sam felt his heart climb up into his throat. With a click, the call was picked up and a woman’s voice layered in a thick Irish accent poured down the phone, irate.

“Do ye have any idea what time of the night it is? Jesus fucking Christ, Mary and Joseph, I was sleeping. Who are ye, what do ye want, and who gave ye this number?”

Sam blinked in shock. “Um.”

“Um. Well, yes, that’s very fecking helpful, thank you for sharing that with me. Now get your tongue back in your mouth and answer me, or I will hang up this phone and curse ye thrice over.”

“No, no, wait, I’m sorry,” he said. “My name is Sam Winchester. I found your number in Bobby Singer’s journal. He wrote down a spell to find someone ‘through the veil’. I need your help.”

“Oh Jesus, I told him not to write that down. That spell is only asking for trouble, lad. It’s too strong, calls all many of unsightly things, sends out a beacon.”

“Please,” Sam said. He heard a gusty sigh, breath crackling down the line. There was a long pause. Jody stared at him from across the table, with wide eyes. 

“What’s going on?” she whispered. He shrugged.

“How’s Bobby doing?” the woman asked, her voice soft and almost sad, as if she knew it wouldn’t be good. 

Sam swallowed roughly. “He’s. He’s dead, ma’am.”

Another sigh. “That fecking eejit. Too reckless, I told him he’d get himself killed one day. Well. I owed him one and I guess ye can cash in on it. I’ll tell you about the spell. And the name is Deirbhile. Deirbhile ó Briain, not ma’am or whatever silly American thing yis are doing now.”

“Deirbhile,” Sam echoed, getting his mouth used to the sound of it. “Got it.” 

“Do ye have a pen and paper handy?” She sounded impatient, as if she wanted this done and then she could wash her hands of him.

“Hang on.” He pulled the cell down, covering the mouthpiece. “Do we have paper anywhere?” he asked Jody. 

She nodded, getting up from the chair and darting into the bedroom, coming out with a loose sheaf of paper in her hand. Sam had a pen in his pocket and he pulled it out, uncapping it with his teeth. He lifted the cell back up.

“Ready,” he told Deirbhile.

“Right,” she said briskly. “The spell that’s written there is only a small part of what is actually entailed in the ritual. Who are ye trying to talk to, where are they and how did they get there? Answer me honestly, if ye don’t mind.”

“My brother. He’s been sucked into Purgatory. He doesn’t belong there. Bobby wrote down ‘through the veil’. Does that mean I can contact him there?”

“Through the veil in the context of this ritual and spell means the faeire realms, but ye’ll be able to contact your brother fine, especially if he was put there against his will and he has no place in Purgatory. He’s not a monster, is he?” she asked sharply.

Sam started. “No,no. God, no.”

“Good. Now, this ritual is very specific. The amounts may not matter but ye have to do everything in a set order or it will not work. Do ye understand?”

Sam nodded and when he realised she couldn’t see him, rushed out a “Yes.” Jody was sitting back opposite him, her hands clasped tight together and chewing her lips. He tried to send her a reassuring smile, but it wobbled dangerously on his lips. 

“Find an open patch of grass. Dig a pit and place seven stones around it in a circle. Place Irish moss in the pit and pour cedar oil over it. Next, put down these in the following order: holly, mugwort, dandelion, coltsfoot and yew.”

Sam repeated her list back to her, to double check. “Irish moss for protection, cedar oil to draw energy from the Earth, holly for protection and dream magic, mugwort for psychic powers and astral projection, dandelion for calling spirits, coltsfoot for visions and yew for protection against evil spirits.”

Jody looked up at him, face slack with surprise. Deirbhile made an impressed noise. Sam couldn’t help but let a small prideful smile slip out.

“Ye have a decent knowledge of ritual magic and herbs, which should mean ye must have several of these already. Good. Once everything is in the pit, drop in a lit match. As everything catches fire, ye must drop in something gold that is worth more than what it cost and then pour in a vial of blood from the person ye want to speak with.”

Sam frowned. “I don’t have a vial of my brother’s blood.”

“Your own will do, lad.” 

“And the gold? What’s the gold for?” 

“It acts as an anchor. And before you ask, the ring of stones acts as a –”

“Barrier, I would guess,” Sam interrupted.

“Hmm. Not an amadán, then,” she muttered.

“A what?” he asked and then thought better of it, shaking his head. “Never mind. Thank you, I think.”

“You’re welcome. Now, there are these are the final steps and they are important. As you put everything in the pit, you must chant the spell. You must walk around the stone circle three times as you chant the spell for the second time. The final and third time you chant the spell, you must sit in the spot where you started the circle.”

Sam scribbled down the instructions and then waited to hear more, but none came.

“That’s it?” he asked, incredulously.

“’That’s it’ he says,” Deirbhile said, her voice echoing Sam’s incredulity. “Yes, that’s it. Jaysus, what more do ye want? Dancing under the moonlight naked while yodelling? I think ye’ll find, love, that isn’t really our cup of tea.”

He blinked and then cleared his throat. “Bobby didn’t write any of this down.”

“It’s a very old and powerful ritual. Ye can speak with anybody who is trapped in a different realm. There are very few limits. None of us write all of it down, so when ye have finished, you burn that piece of paper. You burn it and the page in Bobby’s journal, lad.”

“Right.” Sam blew out a heavy breath, his eyes tracking Jody as she went to the sink to pour herself a glass of water, her hands gripping the lip of the sink tightly.

“The pronunciation, I’m having difficulty with it,” Sam said down the phone, watching Jody’s throat work as she drank. The empty glass clattered against the sink when she finished.

“I guess I was asking for too much to hope ye didn’t need help with that as well,” Deirbhile sighed and began, slowly, with an edge of condescension, to sound out the spell phonetically.

Long minutes passed as he wrote it down, as carefully and accurately as possible, reading it back to her until he could pronounce it to her satisfaction.

“That’s about as good as ye will ever get,” she told him, in sympathetic tones, as if it was such a tragedy that he couldn’t speak Irish fluently. He bristled a little bit. He knew several other languages, thank you very much, and many of them were dead.

“One more thing,” Sam asked, finally, hoping against hope that luck would allow him one more coincidence, one more happy accident.

“What?” Deirbhile was obviously impatient, the tone of her voice cross and irritated. “It’s one in the morning over here, this better be good.”

“What do you know of St. Patrick’s Purgatory?”

Jody turned around at the sink to face him, watching him. Deirbhile was silent for a very long time and when she answered him at last, her voice was dangerously quiet.

“What do ye know of it?” 

His heart was in his throat, a lump he couldn’t seem to swallow around. His chest squeezed tight. He stood up and walked over to lean against the sink beside Jody. She took his hand in hers and Sam could finally speak past the giant bubble of hope that was expanding inside him.

“I know. I mean, _we_ know,” he corrected, smiling weakly at Jody, “that on Station Island, there is a cave and it’s supposed to be the entrance to Purgatory.” He licked his lips, swallowed. “We know it can be opened, but we don’t know how.”

Through the phone, Sam could hear feet slapping against wooden flooring, as if Deirbhile was pacing. 

“Sam,” she said. “Do not ask me what ye want to ask me. I know a lot about that place, possibly everything there is. I know how to open the entrance but I beg of ye, do not ask me to do it. Ye don’t know what could come out if ye opened that door.”

“Actually,” Sam sighed. “We have a pretty good idea. It’s happened before.” He gripped Jody’s hand tighter, his insides tying themselves into knots. “A door was opened and out came the Leviathan.”

“Jesus Christ, Jesus fucking Christ.” Deirbhile’s shock and horror poured down the phone. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

“Look, Deirbhile, please, I need to get my brother out of there. I need him here. I can’t do this without him.” Jody sucked in a tiny breath beside him and her fingers dug into his hand. He closed his eyes, thoughts swirling. If she said no, if she refused to do it, he would collapse under the weight of himself. Even Jody would be unable to prop him up, to dig him out of the rubble. The hollow pit in his stomach opened up inside him, dark icy tendrils clawing out.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice broken. He slumped over, shoulders bowing. “I’ve booked flights for tomorrow, anyway. I won’t stop looking for a way to get him back.” Even if he lost himself along the way, all his strings cut and nothing left inside, Sam would never stop. 

“Oh, you stupid lad,” she said, exasperated. “I won’t do it for free, not this.” Sam’s heart soared and his face split open with the most blinding smile. He wanted to run and shout, jump around the kitchen and spin Jody around. 

“How did ye know about this?” Deirbhile asked him curiously, interrupting him in his moment of euphoria.

“Umm, right, yes,” Sam said, stuttering with laughter, smile so wide. “Found it in Saint Fursa’s diary. He had visions and then wrote about going to St. Patrick’s Purgatory, how he opened the entrance and got a glimpse of what was behind it.”

“Holy Mary, Mother of God.” Deirbhile’s shriek had Sam pulling the phone away from his ear, wincing at the sound. “You have Fursa’s diary?”

“Uh, yeah? Well, we found it, in my grandfather’s library.”

“Ye come to Ireland, ye come here with that diary, ye give it to me, and I’ll take ye to Station Island. But I warn ye, it will not be easy. I’ll hold open the door and that’s all I’ll do. Ye have to pull your brother out, ye have to stop the monsters getting through. And if they do, that’s not on me.”

Sam gulped nervously, but he couldn’t stop smiling. He was going to talk to Dean. He was going to get him back. _He was going to get him back._

“Give me your flight information and I’ll collect ye. I want this done as quickly as possible so I can wash my hands of ye.” 

He told her the details, where they were landing, what time, what name he’d be assuming, and then with curt goodbye, Deirbhile hung up. Staring down at the cellphone in his hands, the sudden silence was deafening. He could barely believe it. His mind tumbled around uselessly, thoughts chaotic. But he couldn’t stop smiling. 

Jody’s worried voice pulled him out of his stupor. 

“Well? What’s going on? You should have put her on speakerphone! From what I could hear, we have the spell and you’ll be able to contact Dean.” She pulled Sam around so he faced her. When she saw the smile of his face, her own lit up. “Really? She can get Dean back?”

Sam laughed. And then he was crying, tears falling down his face, so relieved he felt like his whole body was floating, all the weight lifted off of him. There was hope. There was a light at the end of the tunnel and it was burning away the darkness he had carried inside him ever since Dean had been sucked into Purgatory.

“Oh, Sam,” Jody whispered softly, bringing his head down to rest in the crook of her neck, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, one hand rubbing soothing circles down his back. “It’s okay,” she hushed. “It’s going to be okay.”

He nodded, forehead resting against the cool skin of her neck. His hands were at the small of her back, bunched up in the fabric of her plaid shirt. Calmness began flowing through him, and eventually he pulled himself upright, tears still clinging to his eyelashes and wetness on his cheek. He rubbed his eyes dry and couldn’t help but laugh again.

“What?” Jody asked, her smile evident in her voice.

“I just feel ridiculous. This whole thing is ridiculous,” he said, still laughing. “This is nothing but an extremely lucky series of coincidences and I have no idea how to feel about that. Nobody can be this lucky.”

She reached up and brushed her hand against his cheeks, drying up the rest of his tears. “Ever hear of the expression, ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’?”

He nodded, looking down at her, so overwhelmingly grateful that she was here.

“Well, then,” she said. “You’re going to get your brother back, and your angel friend. And I always figured the pair of you made up everything as you went along, getting lucky along the way.” She gave him a wry little smile and Sam had to admit she was right. He and Dean relied on gut instinct and luck, most of the time. 

He leaned down and kissed her, her hands still on his cheeks. She made a surprised sound against his lips and kissed him back.

“What was that for?” she asked when he pulled back, their lips parting with a small slick sound. 

“A thank you.” 

Her hands drifted down to his shoulders, fingers curling in the ends of his hair. He lifted a hand to her cheek, running a thumb gently along the soft skin under her eye. “Thank you for coming here and basically rescuing me,” he said with a smile. “Thank you for staying. I don’t know why you did but, just, thank you.”

“Sam, you are so stupid sometimes,” she said, hugging him tightly but briefly, burying her face in his shoulder. “And I can’t stand it.”

He had nothing to say to that, wrapping his arms around Jody tightly. She pulled back and Sam dropped his arms to his sides. 

“There are times when I don’t know what to do with you,” Jody told him with a small sigh, eyes a deep, dark brown that Sam couldn’t read. 

She walked over to the table, looking down at the list of things they would need for the spell. He didn’t know what his emotions were doing anymore. He was beyond euphoric that they had a plan to get Dean back, one that could work. He was relieved and overjoyed and grateful, full of fondness and affection for Jody, but there was this feeling that he was missing something.

“Do we have everything on this list?” she asked Sam.

“I already have the coltsfoot, mugwort and Irish moss, they’re in the cellar. During my, uh, my excursion last night,” he said carefully, and he couldn’t believe it had been such a short while ago, “I spotted several holly and yew trees, so that’s fine. The dandelion and the stones I can get from the forest as well. The blood shouldn’t be a problem, either. The main difficulty is the cedar oil and the piece of gold.” Sam frowned, tapping his chin. “The cedar oil we can buy somewhere, I’m sure, but this piece of gold. ‘Worth more than what it cost’, what does that even mean?”

“Something that means a lot to you, something that has sentimental value.” Jody’s voice was soft beside him. “Something you can’t replace.”

“I don’t have anything like that,” he muttered.

“I do,” Jody sighed. She tugged at Sam’s hand, pulling something out of her jeans pocket and then placing it in his palm. He stared down at it in shock.

“Jody, you can’t – I can’t accept this.” 

Sitting there innocently in his hand, was Jody’s wedding ring, a simple, plain gold band. He looked up at Jody and his breath caught in his throat. There were no tears in her eyes but her face was etched with sadness, broken open with heartache. 

“I can’t take this from you. It’s not right.”

“What other choice do you have?” Her voice exploded out of her. “Take it, take it.” She shoved at him and he stumbled back a step, speechless at the fire in her eyes. “You won’t stop until you find your brother and that will _kill_ you, don’t you understand? You’d throw yourself off a cliff if it meant you would get him back and I won’t watch you do that. So you _will_ take this goddamned ring and you will do your spell and you _will_ get your brother back.”

She strode over to the front door, grabbing her coat and pulling it on angrily in short, sharp movements. 

“I hate that I have to give it to you, and I hate that you’ve made me choose between my dead husband and you before I was ready.” She glared at him, but her eyes were so sad. “I know it’s not your fault, and I know Dean is such a huge part of who you are, but sometimes I wish.” She stopped speaking and took a shuddering breath. “ Sometimes I wish you would put someone else before your brother.”

Sam’s hand was fisted around Jody’s wedding ring, the edges digging into his palm.

“I’m going to get your damned cedar oil,” Jody said as she walked out, slamming the door behind her.

~*~

In the three hours Jody was gone, Sam memorised the spell, filled a vial with his blood, gotten the three herbs from the cellar, and traipsed through the forest in the growing dark, searching for holly, yew and dandelion. As the shadows grew longer, he found himself jumping at small noises and breathing in the air heavily, searching for any smell or taste of ash, watching to see if mist would come creeping out from between the tree trunks. He could see the path they took back the night before. He felt ice in his fingertips and heard the howls of the hounds in the distance.

“Stop it,” he told himself repeatedly. “You’re imagining things. She’s coming back and you’ll fix it.”

As he gathered stones, trying to find ones that matched in size, he thought about what Jody had said, turning the words over in his mind. She was right, Dean came first, and it had been that way since Sam could remember. He didn’t understand why she found that a difficult thing to accept. He carried the stones out onto the patch of grass behind the cabin, piling the seven of them into a small heap. He pushed sweat-damp hair off his forehead and tucked the wayward strands behind his ear. Jody’s ring was in his pocket and he fingered the smooth surface of it as he made his way to the front steps, sitting down on them to wait for her. The front door was open and he was bathed in the light coming from within. He took out the ring, rolling it around in his hands, trying it on several fingers. It didn’t fit any of them. 

Sam thought about the day her husband died, killed by her son. Or the thing that used to be her son, he wasn’t sure which was more accurate. It had been more two years. Jody had shoved the anguish down, done her job, and then grieved when it was all over. He remembered wanting to hug the pain away from her and being startled by the thought. 

He turned the ring over and over and over. The gold reflected the light and made the ring look like it was lit with flames. Was two years enough time to deal with the grief and move on? He thought about Jess burning on the ceiling, stomach sliced open and her blood dripping on his forehead; he thought about Ruby and holding her still while Dean killed her with her own knife, her body jerking in his arms; he thought about Dean dying and it never stopping; he thought about Dean being ripped open by the invisible claws of the hellhounds while he watched, helpless.

Sam folded his arms across his knees, hand closed tight around Jody’s ring. No, two years wouldn’t be enough. He closed his eyes and buried his head in his arms.

~*~

A short while later, Sam caught the beam of headlights coming through the trees. Something inside him released its tense hold over his body. The shadows receded and his fingertips finally felt warm again. The sound of tires crunching over gravel reached his ears, and he stood as Jody’s car swung around the final bend, parking behind the Impala. Jody climbed out and shut the front door, the engine ticking as it cooled. 

Jody’s face was smooth as she handed him a jar of cedar oil. Sam took it from her with a small, timid smile, trying to brush over the slightly awkward silence.

“Where’d you get it?” he asked her.

“There was some healthfood store about three towns over. They had lots of essential oils and that kind of stuff.”

“Great,” he said, forcing a cheerful tone. “We have everything, then. Unless you want your ring back.” He opened his fingers and held out his hand, the ring placed in the middle of his palm. Jody considered it for a long moment, gaze almost longing, before sighing and then reaching up to curl his fingers over it, her hands covering his.

“No, you need it more than I do, I think.”

“Jody,” Sam started to say but she interrupted him before he could get any further.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that,” she told him, her voice serious. “It was just so sudden and I had no time to deal with it. I thought about it for a long time during the drive and I realised that I’ll be okay without it, but you won’t be okay without Dean.”

He said nothing, the truth of her words numbing his lips and tongue.

“And that’s what worries me the most.” Jody moved closer to Sam, smoothing a hand down to wrap around his wrist, fingers resting gently on the underside, against his pulse. “I know how much Dean means to you and I would never try to undermine that or separate the pair of you. You’re a package deal.” She smiled unhappily. “You’ve had nothing but each other for a very long time. You’ve let me in, but I think it’s because you need me, because Dean isn’t here.”

“Jody, I—” he said but then closed his mouth. He couldn’t deny it.

“I know that you care for me, that’s there’s more to it than that, but at the heart of who you are, there I can find Dean too.” She blew out a heavy breath. She was silent as she thought.

Sam’s mind whirled, trying to think about what she was saying. His pulse echoed in his ears. Dean was part of who he was; his brother, his friend, his partner, even his parent. Dean had stitched him up and kicked his ass and made him breakfast. Who was he, without Dean? 

“When I said that I wished you’d put someone else before Dean, I never meant that person to be myself.” She squeezed his wrist. “I meant you. You place yourself second to Dean and I don’t think it’s healthy. You two will always be co-dependant and you’ll always be in each other’s lives, but sometimes it seems like you can’t see yourself without Dean being beside you. It worries me too much and that worry just exploded out of me earlier. I’m sorry,” she finished, with a concerned frown. 

Sam wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. 

“I don’t know what you want from me here,” he finally said after a long silence.

“I want you to be yourself.”

“But Dean’s a huge part of that.”

“I know.” She sighed again and pulled his hand against her chest, looking up at him. Sam was torn. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, never let her go, but he was so close now to contacting Dean. His skin itched with impatience. He knew she saw the conflict written across his face and she let his hand go.

“Alright,” she said heavily. “Let’s go and see if this spell works.”

~*~

Jody went inside to bring out all the items needed that he’d put on the table while Sam began digging the pit using one of the smaller shovels from cellar. The palms of his hands were sweaty with nerves and a ball of anxious anticipation was building in his gut, spiralling out until his skin felt too small for his frame. Deirbhile hadn’t told him how big this pit should be so he stopped once he judged the circle to be large enough that the seven stones could circle it without any large gaps. Jody came out and stood to the side, her arms full, as he lifted the stones from the heap he’d dumped them in earlier and arranged them in a circle. He then turned to her, taking everything and laying them out on the grass in the specific order called for by the ritual. 

He took several deep breaths as he knelt before the stone circle, going over the spell in his head one last time.

“Good luck,” Jody said as she stood back, watching him. He nodded and gave her a shaky smile, receiving one in return that was not much steadier.

As he lifted up the Irish moss and placed it in the pit, he began to speak.

_“ Glaoim ar an Dagda  
mar a shiúlann mé timpeall an chiorcail trí huaire,  
a sheoladh chugam tríd an aer,  
a dhéanamh liom an áit seo caite.”_

He poured the cedar oil in, followed by the holly, mugwort, dandelion, colsfoot and yew. When he lit the match and dropped it in, the pit burst into flickering flames, turning blue, then green, then yellow and finally ending on red. As he continued speaking the flames died down until they were licking around the edges of the pit.

_“A sheoladh dom chuig an duine a chailleann mé an chuid is mó.  
Timpeall an chiorcail trí huaire,  
agus a thabhairt dom an radharc.”_

Nothing happened when he put Jody’s wedding ring in but when he poured his blood over everything, there was an echoing hiss. He heard Jody gasp behind him. Smoke billowed as he finished the incantation, catching in his throat. 

Sam stood and walked around the smoking pit, chanting the words for the second time. He circled the stones three times. There was a crackle in the air and he felt the hairs on his arms stand up, his skin prickling with goosebumps. The smoke was made him dizzy and on the third circle, he slumped down to his knees, his head swimming. 

The smoke grew thicker, tendrils pushing forward to wrap around Sam. He swallowed, before saying the incantation a third time. As he did, a buzzing built in his ears, growing until it reached a thunderous roar. In the smoke, he could see red eyes and the flash of a trenchcoat. The words poured from his mouth without effort, his tongue rolling around them fluidly, his voice growing louder and louder. With a shout, he said the final word. His eyes grew heavy and the smoke began to smell like ash. 

Sam closed his eyes and when he opened them, Dean was standing in front of him, mouth open in shock.

“Sam?” he said, voice shaky with disbelief. And then his face slid into desperate anger, cheeks blotching red. “What did you do, what the hell did you do, you stupid son of a bitch?!”

Dean reached out, as if to grab him, and his hand slid right through him, as if Sam was a ghost. Dean went as pale as a sheet. “Oh my God, Sammy.” 

Castiel appeared behind Dean’s shoulder, eyes quickly darting around the clearing. “He is not dead, Dean, he is simply being projected here.”

“I’m fine, I swear. I didn’t do anything as drastic as that,” Sam reassured Dean. Sam couldn’t stop looking at him. There were streaks of dirt across Dean’s face and all over his clothes. There was a tear on the right sleeve of his leather jacket. Sam lurched forward to check for blood, before realising his fingers would slide right through him.

“What happened to your arm? Are you hurt, are you okay?” he asked, gesturing at the jagged rip.

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Sam. I fell and got caught on something on the ground.” He gave the sleeve a brief forlorn look. “My new jacket, too.”

“I am glad to see you, Sam, but I am going to have to disrupt this reunion,” Castiel said, and when Sam glanced over at him, he saw that Castiel’s whole body was tense. Growls echoed to his left, where Castiel’s gaze was focused on. Mist curled through the gaps in the trees and Sam could see glowing red eyes. “We are going to have to run. Go, Dean, Sam, now!”

Dean turned on his heel and pelted through the trees, Sam following close behind. The taste of ash caught in the back of his throat and made him want to gag. He looked back once over his shoulder and saw Castiel face off against a lumbering black shape, mist swirling around its limbs. He shuddered. His legs burned and his chest heaved as he sucked down quick breaths. He stumbled, slowing down.

“Sam, come one, you gotta keep going. Just a little bit longer,” Dean called, a few feet ahead of him, panting.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swore between gasps.

They kept running. Sam wondered how long he had left. Until the fire burned out and the smoke disappeared in the breeze.

“Dean, stop,” he panted. 

Dean skidded a little as he turned back towards Sam.

Looking over Sam’s shoulders, he rasped out, “There’s nothing following us yet, we should be alright.”

“Alright, okay.”

“How long have I been gone, Sam?” Dean asked him once their breathing had settled.

“Three days,” Sam told him. Dean looked at him in shock. 

“Only three? It felt like so much longer and yet so much shorter.” He began pacing, looking around anxiously, obviously searching for Castiel. “It’s the weirdest thing. I don’t need to eat or drink or sleep. All I do, all _we_ do, is run and dodge and evade. But I’m so tired.”

And when Sam looked at him, he could see how paper-thin Dean’s skin was, his cheeks gaunt and his mouth thin. His hair was greasy and flat. His eyes were sunk in their sockets and surrounded by bruised looking skin. Sam’s hands trembled by his sides in the knowledge that Dean wouldn’t survive much longer here.

“Dean, I am getting you out. And I don’t mean that as a promise, I mean _I am getting you out_. I’ve found a way,” Sam said fiercely. Dean took a step towards him, eyes wide and nothing but green, green, green. There was the sound of fluttering wings and then Castiel appeared beside them, his face ashen and hair damp with sweat. His limbs were shaking.

“Dean,” he wheezed. Dean darted forward to put his arm around his shoulder to help him stand up. “There is only so much more I can do. We cannot rest here, this place will not allow us, and without any restoration, I am pushing at the edge of my endurance.”

“Cas, Sam has a way to get us out.” Dean looked back at Sam. “That’s why you’re here, right?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah,” he replied in a rough voice. God, both Dean and Castiel were exhausted, their eyes dead-looking and their faces lined with exhaustion. “Yeah.” he repeated, shaking the thoughts away. They wouldn’t help him. “There’s an entrance to Purgatory in Ireland. We’ve found someone who can open it for us –“

“We?” Dean interrupted.

“Uh, yeah, me and Jody.” Sam couldn’t help the blush that spread across his cheeks as he spoke her name. His eyes dropped to the ground and immediately he wished they hadn’t; the ground was littered with rotten leaven and broken bones that were covered in teeth marks. 

“You sly dog,” Dean said in awe, a smirk pulling at his lips. Sam didn’t realise how much he missed that stupid, irritating smirk. “You’ve landed yourself a cougar.” He reached forward as if to punch him in the shoulder but froze halfway through. The smirk fell from his lips and Sam felt as if ice water had been poured down his back. He missed the comfort of his brother’s touch.

“Anyway,” Sam continued, clearing his throat. “Ireland. We’re headed there tomorrow. We get the entrance open and then we pull you through.”

“How do you find us?”

“What?” Sam blinked, confused.

“I said, how do you find us,” Dean repeated, “so you can pull us through. Does it open in a specific place or what?”

Dread climbed up Sam’s throat and hopelessness slammed into him. He swore. He hadn’t thought about that. The air was getting colder, small tendrils of mist creeping along the ground, and Dean was shivering.

“I will be able to sense if a door is opened to Purgatory,” Castiel told them. He wasn’t wheezing anymore but his face was still colourless. Sam’s vision blurred, Dean and Castiel distorting and stretching. _Don’t blink_ , he thought. _Don’t you dare blink_.

“The spell is ending.” Sam struggled to keep his eyes open against the heaviness trying to weigh them down. “I’m being pulled back. I’ve only got a few minutes.”

“Sam, God, Sammy,” Dean mumbled desperately as he moved forward. He placed his arms around Sam, even though he knew they would go right through him.

“It’ll be okay, Dean, it’s going to be okay,” Sam whispered. “I’m coming back for you as soon as I can.”

The mist was creeping closer and Castiel whirled to face it, wobbling dangerously on his feet. Howls filled the air, discordant. They sounded hungry.

“Dean,” Castiel called, voice strained.

“You run, and don’t you stop,” Sam told Dean as Dean stepped back, moving to stand beside Castiel, his eyes never leaving Sam’s. Sam’s own began closing and the sounds of Dean calling his name, of the growling, snapping jaws, faded.

“I’m coming back for you, both of you. Don’t you die on me,” he yelled.

Dean waved, a painful smile stretching across his face. It morphed into a look of fear and Sam couldn’t breathe. 

Everything went black. Sam blinked his eyes open, scrabbling backwards, away from the pit, the smoke gone. His arm was outstretched, reaching for Dean but there was nothing but green grass and trees in front of him.

“Sam, Sam, oh my God, Sam,” Jody said as she rushed to kneel at his side, her hands fluttering over his chest and shoulders. “Are you alright, did you find them, are they alright? You’ve been sitting there for hours, I was getting so worried.”

Sam looked at her in shock. “ _What?_ ” Only then did he notice the moon and stars in the sky. 

The forest in front of him was impenetrable. He couldn’t look at it for too long, tensing as he waited for the mist. Jody’s hand gripped his upper arm and he snapped to attention.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, pushing her hands away as he stood up. He looked down at the blackened mess at the bottom of the pit, a disgusting smell emanating from it. Sam reached in to try to find Jody’s ring but the mess burned his fingertips. He pushed the soil back in, covering everything up. Sam turned to look at Jody’s troubled face, forehead creased and mouth pressed shut. 

“They’re as alright as can be expected.” He didn’t mention their worn faces and their tired shoulders. 

Sam wiped at his face and then grabbed her hand.

“But we have to go,” he told her. “We have to go now. I don’t think they have much time left.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sam and Jody didn’t speak much as they shoved clothes into duffels. He was silent and tense, anxiety thick at the back of his throat. His fingers shook slightly as he carelessly threw clothes in. His mind kept flashing back to Dean’s face and no matter how often Jody kept trying to draw him into conversation, the image of his brother’s skeletal face haunted him. 

His bag was packed first and he strode over to the kitchen table, eyes on the decorated box that held Saint Fursa’s diary. Sam smoothed his hands over the lid, fingertips trailing over the engraved words.

“Sorry, Bobby.” He lifted the box up, wrapped in layers of his clothes and gently put it in his duffel, pulling the zipper closed. 

“Sam,” Jody called, as she followed him into the main room, her own bag over her shoulder.

“What,” Sam replied sharply. Jody flinched back and a wave of guilt rushed up from his gut.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned, hand rubbing at his forehead. He felt like his head was gripped in a vice, one tight squeeze away from popping. He needed to go, he wanted to run, to fly the plane himself, to swim the Atlantic Ocean if it would get him to Dean quicker. He had a fire lit under his feet and all he could do was move forward.

“I need you to talk to me, to tell me what is going on.” Jody walked up to him in short, angry strides. “I’m with you, all the way, but it would be nice to know where the edge is and how close we are to going over! I want to help, but I can’t do that if you keep me in the dark.”

Sam sighed. This is what she had meant earlier, he thought. Everything else faded out in comparison to Dean, especially when Dean was in trouble, when Dean needed him. He was so selfish when it came to his brother and Sam knew it. Jody would always be second best, if she stayed. And she had been so selfless. He wasn’t worth that. 

“How can you stand it, knowing that Dean is more important to me?” His voice was soft but his words were bluntly honest.

Jody’s face went blank but her eyes were creased, searching and sad. “I went into this knowing what you’re like, Sam, and who you will always love the most. But I lost my husband and son, I loved them more than anything, and that’s a part of me you’ll never really have.” She ran a hand through her fringe, Sam watching as it fluffed up and the fluttered around her forehead. She turned away from him. 

“You can tell me in the car. As you said, we don’t have much time.” She was abrupt and that left Sam clutching at air. She did this to him, left him struggling to grapple with what she’s said, with how she said it. 

Later, he thought. There would be time enough when Dean was back in front of him and Sam could wrap him in a hug he’d protest vehemently against. A smile ghosted across Sam’s lips as he flicked off all the lights, checked the salt at all the windows and doors, and locked the cabin up. He patted the door and then walked over to Jody’s car.

~*~

The drive to the airport was filled with tense silence, their unresolved argument hanging over them. Was it even an argument? Sam couldn’t tell, but there was an undeniable strain between them. Jody’s hands were tight around the steering wheel. She didn’t look at him as he told her their flight information and kept her eyes on the road. He briefly thought that she was a better driver than Dean; safer, obeyed the rules. Suddenly, it felt wrong to be sitting in the passenger seat of a car that was not the Impala, that didn’t have Dean beside him. He let out a short, sharp breath, fingers digging into his knees.

The flight to Dublin would take eight hours and the flight from Dublin to Donegal a mere forty minutes. It was too long. 

He bit back the urge to tell Jody to drive faster.

~*~

When they arrived at the airport, Jody and Sam still weren’t speaking much. Sam felt anxious, his heart in his throat and his pulse setting such a fast pace that it seemed like drums were beating in his ears. Every time he moved, his stomach swooped. The tension between them then disappeared because he had no more room to worry about it. Sam hoped it would figure itself out in its own time.

Jody’s hands were still tight around the wheel as she parked the car in the long-term parking lot. 

“How long are we going to be in Ireland?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” Sam got out of the car and moved to take their bags out of the trunk. The closer he got, the more Sam felt like something was winding tighter and tighter in his chest. “As long as it takes,” he said, standing beside the car, waiting for her.

Jody sighed. “Yeah. I thought so.”

Sam frowned. “I’ll pay for the parking, don’t worry about it.”

“Because that’s what I’m worried about, of course,” she mumbled under her breath, sarcastic. She picked up her bag, hand clamped around the handle. He could see the strain across her shoulders, on her face. He couldn’t think about it, Dean came first. But he still cared, more than he ever thought he could, so he stepped up in front of her, raised a hand to her cheek. He kissed her softly, and he lingered, filled with unspoken wishes. _If wishes were horses,_ he thought, _than even beggars could ride._

“I’m sorry.” Sam meant it, his heart behind the words. He was hurtling heart first towards his brother and he was dragging Jody in his wake. 

Jody pulled back from him. “I know,” she said, with a tired half-smile. “Let’s go. We have a plane to catch.”

~*~

Sam had checked in his duffel, teeth digging into his lower lip as it disappeared down the conveyor belt. He’d had no choice. He had wrapped the engraved box in as many of his clothes as possible, creating as much of a buffer as he could, but if Saint Fursa’s diary was damaged or taken away, he doubted Deirbhile would help them. Everything hinged on that ancient and weathered diary. Sam wasn’t able to hold it in his hands.

The anxiety didn’t disappear, it only grew larger and larger, until his chest felt too full and it became difficult to breath. He was in an airport, heading outside the country, with a fake passport. Each time he handed it over, his heart stuttered painfully in his chest. Jody projected calmness beside him and held his hand. It helped, soothing his anxious flush, up until they were sitting in their seats in economy and the plane was in the air. He pushed his shoulders into the too small seats and forced himself to stop fidgeting. Jody’s knee pressed up against the outside of his thigh.

“We’re on our way,” she said in a low, soft voice, leaning over to speak into his ear. “Nothing bad is going to happen. Get some rest, I’ll keep you safe.” Sam felt a warm rush of fondness slosh in his stomach. He placed his hand on her knee and the contact relaxed him enough that he tipped his head back, closing his eyes.

Sam dosed for a few hours. He twitched every now and then as he pushed his mind away from things that would make him sick with worry and fear. Jody made the odd snuffling noise beside him. She had fallen asleep herself, her head eventually falling over to rest against his upper arm. 

Finally, Sam slipped into sleep himself, but nightmares with red eyes and blood plagued him. He woke shortly after, panting and eyes frantically spinning around him. He felt panic pull at the edges of him, threatening to yank at his threads until he unravelled. 

The diary was in the cargo hold. Sam catalogued the amount of people that this plane could hold, the amount of bags they would have. Thought about his duffel, with its soft casing, squished and flattened. Imagined wood cracking and breaking, paper ripping into illegible fragments.

Sam thought about Dean, sick-looking with hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes. His tired shoulders slumped in defeat as Castiel fell. His eyes dead as some lumbering beast, mist swirling around it, swung its clawed hand. 

He tried to control his breathing, eyes closed and hands gripping the armrests. His foot was tapping the ground, his leg jumping up and down. The movement jostled Jody, waking her up.

“What-” Her hands reaching up to rub at her eyes. She yawned and shook her head, only then seeming to notice how tense Sam was. His body was wired tight enough that he felt he was one move away from snapping in half.

“Sam,” she said, “calm down.” 

He shook his head, jerking it stiffly from left to right. He couldn’t, he didn’t know how. His chest was being crushed under this weight as he thought about that engraved box being ground into nothing but splinters. 

“Sam, you need to calm down, right now,” she whispered urgently. “I know you’re really worried about the box being in the cargo hold, but on such short notice, what other option did we have? It will be fine, nothing is going to happen to it. We’re going to get Dean back.”

Sam peeled his eyes open, locking them with Jody’s. How did she know what he was freaking out about? Her gaze was fierce but filled with such warmth that it made his breath stutter.

“Take a deep breath,” she said, obviously noticing how his breathing had changed. 

Sam breathed in deeply, holding it, and then letting it out. The last time he’d done this with someone was, God, was when Dean and him, soulless him, went to Scotland. He couldn’t prevent the shudder at the memory, at how cold he had been inside, a hollowness that at the time he didn’t even feel. And as much as Dean had told him, over and over, that it hadn’t been him, hadn’t been _Sammy_ , Sam knew better.

Those six months after the debacle with the trickster, the four months after Dean when to hell. Sam without a soul, Sam without Dean; Sam knew they were the same person. That terrified him. He pushed the thought down, as deep as it could go, where it usually stayed with all the other things he never thought about, if he could help it. He took another deep breath, lungs expanding, his chest rising, the oxygen rushing through him, and let it out.

“That’s it, Sam.” Jody rubbed a soothing hand up and down his arm. 

Sam unclenched his fingers, relaxing their grip on the armrests, but his knees were still pouncing and his anxiety hadn’t fully dispersed. He looked over at Jody as she herself breathed deeply and then let out a little chuckle.

“Can’t believe I’m going to suggest this, but what the hell, right?” Jody grinned at him and Sam let himself grin back. Relief flared in his chest that maybe whatever strain had happened between them had smoothed itself out. “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” she continued after looking over at the toilets at the rear end of the plane, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Go down to the toilet at the very end, the last one. I’ll wait five minutes, knock on the door five times, and you’ll let me in.”

Sam couldn’t help it, his mouth dropped in shock. 

She poked at his shoulder, smirking. “Up you get, buddy, you’re about to become a member of the mile high club.”

Sam made a spluttering noise as she kept poking him until he stood to his feet. 

“Go,” she said, making a shooing motion with her hands. 

Sam walked down to the toilet Jody had pointed out, in a bit of a daze, thrown from one emotion into the next, without any warning. He smiled, unlocking the toilet and stepping in. He turned around in the small space, only barely managed to not knock into anything. He had to keep his head down and his shoulder hunched, though. He leaned against the miniscule counter, back pressing into the mirror, as he waited.

The five minutes seemed to trickle by unbearably slow and Sam could feel himself getting more aroused, cock hardening up against the zipper of his jeans. He thought about how this might work. He looked at the toilet. He could sit on it while she rode him. Or, he mused, heat warming him, he could fuck her up against the wall, although that might make too much noise. He knew what she was planning here – a distraction. Sam didn’t care.

Finally, Sam heard the five knocks on the door and he unlocked it. Jody squeezed in past him, her body pressed up against him in the best of ways. 

“That was more than five minutes.” He brought his hands up to hold her waist as she reached over to lock the door again.

“I had to wait until the air hostess was looking the other way,” she said, breathless, a pink flush on her cheeks. 

Jody looked gorgeous in that moment, her eyes bright and a smile tucked into the corners of her mouth. Sam pulled her tighter against him and leaned down for a kiss. Jody made a pleased noise as their lips meet, catching and dragging against each other. They parted after a long moment as he licked his lips. Her eyes darted down to watch his tongue and then she reclaimed his mouth, kissing deeper and harder. Her tongue flickered out to trace the seam of his lips and when he opened his mouth with a gasp, she slid it against his, eliciting a shiver. The kiss got wetter and dirtier, as he licked his way into her mouth, flicking his tongue up against the roof of her mouth, up behind her mouth.

Sam pulled back with a slick sound to suck in a gasping breath. He dived back in, lips meeting and moving together, his hands moving up under her shirt so her could feel the heat of her skin. Jody dragged her fingers down his back, digging her fingernails in through his top and he made a small moaning sound into her mouth, conscious of the need to be quiet. She slid a thigh between his, pressing up against his hard cock. He could feel her rubbing up against the muscle, hips bearing down. Jody tucked her hands under his boxers, and he gasped at the feel of them on his skin, grabbing his ass as she pulled their hips together, tighter. 

They were both breathing heavily and they rolled their hips, grinding up against each other. Heated pleasure sparked up Sam’s spine. He bit down on Jody’s lip, trying to stifle his moan. 

“Fuck,” she panted, as soon as he released it. 

Her lip was swollen red, almost painful looking. Sam leaned down and took it into his mouth, sucking gently and running his tongue along it. Jody’s hips jerked, moving furiously against him. Sam moved a hand around to cup her breast under her shirt. He let go of her lip with a pop. He skimmed his mouth along her jaw and then under her ear, where he licked and sucked at the skin. Jody shuddered in his arms, gasping. 

Under his hand, Sam discovered that her bra was a soft lace, so he lifted her breast out, her skin against the palm of his hand. He kept his mouth were it was, but sucked harder at the skin, licking up the salty taste of sweat on her skin. He stroked his fingers over her nipple, rolling it gently between them.

“Oh fuck, oh God.” Jody’s voice was hoarse and heat-filled. 

Sam tugged at her nipple hard and her hips jerked. Her thigh shoved up against his hard cock, sending jolts shivering through him. Jody’s noises became more frustrated, her hips moving harder against his thigh. 

“Sam, it’s not enough,” she groaned loudly. Sam lifted his mouth of her neck to hush her.

“Be quiet,” he whispered against her ear. “You don’t want us to get caught, do you?” 

Jody made a cut-off gasp and Sam let out a dark chuckle. He pulled away from her, as much as he could in the cramped space, and moved around until he was behind her. Jody now faced the mirror. She squirmed up against Sam and he muffled his groan against the back of her neck as she rubbed up against him. He spread his legs a bit, lowering himself, so her ass fit perfectly against his cock, a constant delicious pressure. 

“I’m going to make you come, Jody,” he said, locking on her eyes in the mirror. They were wide and dark, her cheeks flushed more red than pink now. 

“Sam, yes.” 

Jody smirked at him, as she purposefully pressed back against him. It felt so good his legs trembled and his hands tightened around her waist to stop her moving. He pulled her against him, hand pushing her shirt up to her chest so he could see her breasts in the mirror, one exposed, the nipple hard. His fingers reached up to play with it as he looked at her. 

One side of her neck had a purpling bruise, his own handiwork. His mouth watered and he moved down to lick it, laving the skin.

“Oh, oh,” Jody whispered, trying to keep quiet. 

With his other hand he unbuttoned her jeans, pulling down the zip. He pushed his hand into her panties, parting her curls and curling under until he reached her cunt, already wet beneath his fingers. He shoved two fingers in, up the second knuckle, as far as they could go. Jody clenched around them, shoving her hips down onto them. Sam dragged his fingers out and up a bit, searching for her hard clit. She trembled when he found it. She began panting loudly when he began rubbing it in hard circles. He slowly built up the pace, matching it with the hand that tugged at her nipple.

Soon, Jody was squirming, bucking her hips. Sam watched her as she fell apart, coming with barely a sound, her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth open. She was beautiful. 

Jody’s body was tense for a long moment as her orgasm rushed through her and then she collapsed against Sam, body trembling and limp. Sam tucked her breast back into her bra and Jody hissed as her tender nipple brushed against the lace. He pulled his hand out of her panties as he fixed her top. 

They were wet with her slick and Sam brought them to his mouth, sucking the taste of her off them. Jody buttoned up her jeans herself and turned around to face Sam, bringing a hand down to press against his hard cock. He gasped around his fingers.

“Sit on the toilet and I’ll blow you,” Jody breathed in his ear. 

Sam scrambled to sit down, hands already opening the button and pulling down the zipper, if only to get some relief. He rubbed his hand over his erection through his boxers, his cock pulsing wetly. He looked up at Jody coyly under his eyelashes. His fingers moved down to cup his balls and Sam gently squeezed them, letting himself go slack against the wall behind him. Jody’s legs brushed his as she leaned forward, towering over him, her arms either side of his head. Her eyes flickered down to his hands then back to his face. Her right arm lowered and her hand moved to where his were, fingers stroking up the shaft, dragging at the wet fabric of his boxers.

“Did I ever mention,” she said, her lips brushing against the side of his cheek, breath making his skin tingle, “that I love how you get wetter than I do?”

A shiver of heated embarrassment made his cheek go a bright red. He could feel how hot they were. He tensed, shifting further back as her fingers circled around the head of his cock, where the sodden fabric was undeniable. 

“Jody –” he protested weakly as she pressed harder and he swallowed a groan.

“Now, now, Sam,” Jody said, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Mommy’s talking.”

Sam loudly gulped down a huge breath, his entire body stilling, her words rushing straight to his cock, which twitched against her fingers. Any apprehension he might have spied in her eyes quickly disappeared at his reaction. 

“Are you going to be a good boy for me, hmm?” Jody’s voice was husky and her face flushed.

He nodded frantically. His throat was too dry to speak. She squeezed his cock and a high-pitched whine got caught in the back of his throat. She leaned forward, her face so close against his.

“Being a good boy means being quiet,” she said with an edge to her voice. “A naughty boy gets punished. You want to be good, don’t you? Want to be good for your Mommy?”

Sam bit at his lips, clamping down on the strangled groan that threatened to spill from his mouth. He could feel sweat springing on his forehead, trickling down his back. His entire body was tingling, wound tight and burning with heat. He couldn’t recall ever being this turned on. It felt like his body was plugged into an electric current, hooked up to an amp and turned up to eleven. 

“Don’t you?” 

She gripped his cock tight enough to hurt. It felt good, everything revved up high enough that all the signals were switched to pleasure. Sam nodded, rolling his head along his shoulders.

“Say it. Or you won’t get your reward.”

“Yes, M-mommy,” Sam stuttered out. It was if his entire self had been opened and left exposed, vulnerable and easily broken. Jody ran her left hand through his hair, calming him, tucking the strands behind his ear. 

“Such a good boy.” 

Something inside Sam preened at the praise. Jody pulled back, moving to kneel between his legs. She smoothed her hands up his shaking thighs, curling her fingers around the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down, tucking them beneath his balls. His cock sprang forward and he stifled a gasp as Jody’s breath ghosted across it. 

Jody lifted a hand and stroked a finger down the shaft, following the vein. His cock was so hard, flushed an impossible red, the head almost purple. It twitched again and he watched as precome pulsed out the slit and slide down. She caught it with her fingers and then sucked them into her mouth, eyes closing at the taste. Sam felt like his entire being was focused on his cock, like nothing else mattered except getting it into her mouth, to feel that wet suction as he came down her throat. Sam fisted his hands on his thighs, desperate to touch, but somehow knowing that it wasn’t allowed.

“This looks like it hurts, baby boy.” Jody swirled her fingers around the head and Sam nearly yowled, the sensation too light and yet hitting him hard, her words and her touches driving him up the wall. 

“Don’t worry,” she told him, eyes dark and blisteringly hot, as she leaned up, mouth poised over him. “I’ll kiss it better.”

And she sucked the head of his cock into her mouth, tongue flicking. Sam shoved his fist into his mouth, biting down on the skin. Jody told him to be quiet. He could be a good boy.

Jody lowered her mouth, swallowing more and more of him, tongue tracing indecipherable patterns on the underside, until he could feel the tip of her nose press against his skin. He bit down harder, the pain only making everything inside him build faster. It took everything he had not to scream, not to buck his hips up and make her choke on it.

She pulled back, tongue flat and licking broad strips against the blood-flushed skin. She suckled at the head, dragging her lips and tongue over and over the slit. Sam was incoherent. There was nothing left but this interminable pleasure and the intense need to come. Jody lapped up the precome that was steadily leaking from him and Sam had never seen himself so wet, dripping down his shaft. Her lips left behind blazing trails of heat as she chased each drop. His hips shifted as she pressed a sucking kiss against his frenulum and his breath stuttered, vision going hazy as his orgasm began pooling at the base of his spine.

“Good boys sit still for their Mommy’s,” Jody reprimanded him. 

She clamped her arm over his hips, preventing him from moving. Sam forced himself to sit still when all he wanted was to fuck into something until he exploded. 

“Good boy,” she all but purred and then she took him back into her mouth, twisting down and then swallowing. She pulled back and then down. He bit down on the knuckle of his hand. He was panting, hard, almost overwhelmed, his balls pulled up tight against his body and oh God, oh God, he wanted to come to badly, he could taste it—

Jody swallowed around him once more and wrenched his orgasm from him. A scream bubbled up in his throat but he didn’t let it out, he couldn’t, he was a _good boy_ , Mommy’s good boy, he wouldn’t make any noise, oh no.

His entire body bowed up, his back arching, his legs pulling up. Pleasure sloshed over him like a tidal wave. He was coming and coming and coming, seemingly without end. Jody kept swallowing around him, drawing it out, sending sparking aftershocks whizzing through his body. Everything felt alive, completely awash with buzzing adrenaline.

Eventually he collapsed back against the toilet seat, his entire body going slack. Jody pulled her mouth off of him with a slick pop. His cock was sensitive and he winced as she gently cleaned him, tucking him back into his boxers and the zipping up his jeans. He hissed at the sensation, but didn’t move to stop her, too weak and trembling.

“Umm,” he said, unsure. 

That feeling of being exposed hadn’t disappeared yet and as each moment passed, Sam started to feel more and more uncomfortable. A horrible and humiliating embarrassment made his chest hurt. It was as if someone had removed his outer shell and now everybody could see the soft parts underneath. His eyes burned and it was difficult to swallow. 

“Hush.” Jody ran her fingers his hair, nails scratching gently at his scalp. 

She clambered onto his lap, straddling it, somehow making herself fit into the cramped space either side of the toilet seat. She pressed a sweet kiss to his forehead. 

“Let Mommy take care of you,” she said in the gentlest of voices and tears fell from his eyes. He buried his face in the space under her chin, a hand combing through his hair and the other rubbing soothing circles across his back. His own arms were wrapped around her waist.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, gently rocking Sam, his shoulders shaking. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. You’re fine. Everything is okay.”

Finally, Sam calmed down, and felt better for having let all that out. He slowly pulled back and wiped at his wet face. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Jody, I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened.” He couldn’t look at her.

“Oh Sam, you did nothing wrong.” She moved her hand under his chin and tipped his head up so he would look at her. She bit at her lip as she looked at him with searching eyes. She sighed. 

“I think I’m the one who should apologise. I took you somewhere I’m not sure you were ready to go to.” She stroked his cheeks with soft fingertips. 

“Did you know?”

“Did I know what?” Sam asked, wilfully clueless.

“Did you know that you wanted to call me, or, or, anybody else, Mommy? Did you know that you had that fetish?”

Sam closed his eyes. “Maybe, I guess. But never enough to mention it or say anything. Not until you, really.” 

It was dark, with his eyes closed, a crimson coloured darkness, and it was safe there, away from eyes that seemed to catch everything.

“Sam, open your eyes.” She paused and when she spoke again, her voice had an added weight. “Be a good boy for me and open your eyes.”

His eyes sprang open and then they narrowed as he glared at Jody. 

“That was cheating,” he pouted. She smirked at him.

“All’s fair in love and war,” she said, shrugging.

Sam sucked in a sharp breath. “Is that was this is? Love?” He could barely say the word, it felt clumsy on his tongue, ill-formed. Jody’s face changed, became serious. 

“It could be,” she said slowly, as if testing the words herself, as if she never truly thought about it until she was saying it. “I think it could be, if you give us the chance.” Her hands came up to cup his cheeks. “I just want you to give us that chance.”

“I know,” Sam said, honestly, and he did, now. “But I.” He stopped, licked his lips, thought about what he wanted to say. 

“You have to know, that right now, Dean comes first. I have to rescue him, get him out of Purgatory and that takes priority.” _Over you_ he continued in his head, but couldn’t say it out loud. Judging by the look on Jody’s face, she knew, but she didn’t look hurt by the admission, rather resigned. 

“I want this with you, but, I said it before, Dean is a huge part of my life and you can’t expect me to change that. I’m not saying that I will always love him more but I _am_ saying I will never love _you_ more.” Sam winced as the words came out, wanting to stuff them back in.

For a long moment, Jody said nothing, kept looking at him with this impenetrable gaze.

“I met my husband in college,” she said, voice soft and filled with a sad regret. “My final semester. We dated for a while, and when I said I wanted to be a cop, he didn’t laugh at me. And that feeling I had, of him being ‘the one’, it hit me like a hammer over the head. I swear, my head didn’t stop ringing, every day I had him in my life. I loved him and I still love him, and my head never rings like that when I look at you, Sam, and it never will.” Jody smiled at him and Sam smiled back. 

He understood and he didn’t feel like second best; this was about something else, something completely different.

“We’re each missing a part and while I’ll never get mine back, you will, almost as soon as we land in Donegal, hopefully. That’s why I want to help you. I want to see you whole and I want to be in your life because I think I could love you.”

“Jody,” Sam whispered, awed.

“Oh shut up.”

“You’re incredible. No, you really are,” he said again as she shook her head, rolling her eyes. This overwhelming rush of happiness, fondness, indescribable in its intensity, washed over him and as he looked at Jody, he could barely breathe. “And I love you a whole fucking lot, already, so there you go.”

She laughed and leaned forward, kissing him.

“We make quite the pair,” she said.

“I think we’re the perfect fit.” 

For the first time, the smile that Sam saw on Jody’s face was shy and unsure. 

“Definitely,” he said, as they kissed again, Sam trying to pour everything he was feeling into it. Jody gasped under the onslaught and kissed back with just as much as emotion.

A knock on the door interrupted them and they pulled back to look at each other in alarm. 

“Excuse me, but the plane is beginning its descent. If you could please take your seat,” a woman’s voice called through the door. The air hostess. 

“Yes, yes, of course,” Jody said, her voice loud and trembling only slightly.

“Umm, what do we do?” Sam whispered fiercely.

“Just follow my lead,” Jody whispered back, out of the side of her mouth. She stood up and unlocked the door, stepping out. Sam followed, keeping his head bowed and shuffling out the door sheepishly. The air hostess looked completely scandalised, her mouth pursed disapprovingly.

“Excuse me,” she said stiffly, “but only one person is allowed in the cubicle at a time. Sexual ongoings are strictly prohibited.”

“Oh no!” Jody brought a hand up to her cheek, voice shocked. “I am so sorry, I really am, but nothing of that sort happened at all. That would be completely inappropriate. It’s just,” she paused and sniffed, “there’s been a death in the family, we’re going over for the funeral. I’m sorry, but we just needed a private moment. I’m sure you understand.”

Sam watched in barely veiled amazement as Jody’s eyes filled with tears. The air hostess cleared her throat, looking supremely uncomfortable. 

“Yes, well,” she said, sternly, “see that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Of course, of course,” Jody rushed, “thank you so much.” She grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him down the aisle, all but shoving him into his seat.

“Jody, that was the most impressive thing I think I’ve ever seen.”

She gave him a droll look. “I’m sure that’s not true, but thank you anyway. Now shut up and look properly inconsolable.”

Sam twisted his head around, spying the air hostess beginning to make her way up their aisle. He wrapped his arms around Jody’s shoulders, her head tucked up under his ear, and rearranged his face into something sad. 

As the air hostess walked by them, Jody’s shoulders began to shake and when she looked down at them, Sam managed to give her a wobbly smile. She twitched her lips in response and then swooshed by, checking that everybody had their seatbelts buckled and the trays were in the upright position. As soon as she was several rows down, Jody began laughing in earnest.

“You are a horrible person and I hate you very much,” Sam told her very calmly.

Jody outright giggled. “You love me.” 

“Oh, shut up.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, her brow suddenly creasing in thought. “You know, we’re going to get Dean back in literally a few hours. It’s going to be the three of us.” She tapped her lower lip with a finger. “I’ve always wondered what a threesome would be like. Or even a foursome.”

Sam made a choking sound, feeling like his brain just imploded. He spent the rest of the descent into Dublin in complete and utter shock.

~*~

“Did you mean that?” Sam asked Jody quietly an hour and a half later when they were on the plane to Donegal. He swallowed. “About the threesome?” That feeling came back, of being exposed, left vulnerable in the cold dark night where anything could hurt him.

Jody rolled her head against the headrest to face him. “I rarely say things I don’t mean, Sam.”

“Yeah, but. He’s my _brother_ , you know that’s really twisted, right?” 

She reached to hold his fidgeting hand, stilling it with a squeeze.

“Love is love is love.” All he could hear was how sincere she sounded. “Besides,” she said with a sly smirk, “it’s not any more twisted than you calling me Mommy.”

Sam blushed, bringing his other hand up to cover his face. “Oh my God, Jody,” he moaned in embarrassment.

Jody chuckled beside him. “Don’t worry about it.” She pulled his hand away from his eyes. 

“I mean it. You don’t have to think about it now or ever, if you don’t want to. Let’s just focus on getting Dean and Castiel back safe and sound.” 

Sam nodded, trying to relax. So far, he’d managed not to freak out again, even though his mind was never far from his brother or Castiel. Over fifteen hours had passed since he had contacted them. Only a few hours more. He could do this. He _would_ do this, conviction rising inside him like a flame and spreading heat through him.

~*~

As soon as they landed in the tiny airport in Donegal, Sam rushed Jody over the baggage collection, barely keeping still. As soon as his duffel appeared, he grabbed it, flinging the zip open and unwrapping everything until he had the engraved box that contained Saint Fursa’s diary in his hands.

“Thank God,” he said, his whole body unwinding in relief. 

He carefully wrapped it back up and zipped it closed. He nodded, standing up, face set. His gut was churning madly, energy buzzing through him. He was so close. Jody slipped her hand in his, face just as resolute.

“Let’s go.” She tugged him towards the arrivals gate. As they walked through, he immediately spied a small woman holding a sign with the name Mark O’Brien on it. The same name on his passport. His steps slowed as he walked towards her, hesitantly asking, “Deirbhile?”

The woman gave him a wide smile that did not reach her blue eyes. “The one and only. Mark,” she added with a sarcastic twist. 

“And this is?” she asked, looking at Jody.

Jody stepped forward. “Jody Mills.” She held her hand out. Deirbhile did nothing for a long moment and then shook Jody’s hand with hers, her knit jumper sliding up to expose fragile-looking wrists. 

“Well, now that that’s out of the way, follow me, will ye?” She turned abruptly on her heel. 

Sam and Jody followed her, exchanging wide-eyed and uncertain looks. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it hadn’t been this. Maybe he had an idea of wild red hair and green eyes, a woman statuesque and matronly, a welcoming face. 

Deirbhile looked in no way matronly. She was as thin as a rake, her jumper swallowing her, skinny, jean-clad legs sticking out. Her hair was brown and her face was all angles, with a small mouth and wide eyes. Her age was difficult to place, anywhere between her late thirties or early fifties. She wore wellingtons, and Sam spied the small umbrella she had tucked under her arm as she shoved the sign she had been holding up into the bin.

“Hope ye brought your wellies, its lashing outside,” Deirbhile called over her shoulder, eyes glancing over their clothes in disdain. 

Sam glanced down at his jeans and boots. He hadn’t thought to bring a rain jacket. Jody muttered beside him, pulling her own umbrella from her bag. Sam looked at her, mouth agape. 

“What?! We were going to Ireland, of course I brought an umbrella.”

“I like you,” Deirbhile told Jody. “Obviously the brains of this outfit.” 

Jody snorted. Sam sighed.

The doors to outside whooshed open and the sound of the rain thundering down covered everything else. Jody and Deirbhile opened up their umbrellas. Deirbhile gestured for them to follow her as she made a mad dash to the parking lot across the road. Sam and Jody ran after her, water splashing around them as they stepped into puddles.

“Goddammit,” he hissed as his right foot got drenched. 

Deirbhile was already at the car, a small little thing and his gut clenched with dread at the thought of spending any length of time folded up in there.

“In ye get,” Deirbhile called impatiently as she closed her umbrella, shaking it and slipping into the driver’s seat, door slamming shut behind her. 

Sam dashed outside the protection of Jody’s umbrella to slide into the backseat behind Deirbhile. His head and shoulders got drenched as he huddled protectively over his duffel bunched up in his arms. As he closed the door, Jody sat down beside him, shaking her umbrella. Sam felt as if his knees were pressed up into his chin and he had no room whatsoever to move.

Deirbhile twisted in her seat to face them, her eyes hard and mouth unsmiling. “Did ye contact your brother?”

“Yeah, he said he’d be ready.”

“Grand. So. Here’s how this is going to go. It will take us about twenty or thirty minutes to drive to the small ferry that’s going to take us over to Station Island. Ye are to do as I say and keep your mouths shut.” She waited until both Sam and Jody nodded their heads. 

“Good. Now, they know me on the island, know what I do, so we shouldn’t have any trouble.” She looked at Sam for a long moment, assessing him. “Ye have the diary?” she asked him.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam couldn’t help but say, arms tightening around his duffel. Deirbhile scowled.

“I’ll take that now, if ye don’t mind.” Her hands were outstretched. When Sam was reluctant to relinquish his hold, she rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to kick ye out as soon as I have my hands on it. I gave my word. I’ll open the door for ye.”

Sam still didn’t hand it over. Jody poked him in the side. 

“Give it to her,” she hissed. “If you don’t, then she might refuse to help us. You have no choice here, Sam.”

He let out a shuddering sigh and unclenched his hands, reaching to unzip the duffel. He unwrapped the box and took it out. He didn’t look up at Deirbhile shocked inhale, only gently traced the engravings with his fingers. When he handed it over to Deirbhile, her hands trembled.

“Jesus Christ,” she said, awed, in a hushed voice. 

Her entire face lit up, eyes dancing and a delighted smile curving her mouth as she reverently opened the lid up. She looked like an entirely different person. She closed the lid, reached down into the foot well of the passenger seat and pulled up a black case, opening it and placing the box into it. She took a moment, hands placed upon the case. Jody slipped her hand into his and he squeezed it gratefully. 

“Alright,” Deirbhile said, “let’s get this show on the road.”

Sam’s heart thumped hard, his chest contracting. A short drive, a ferry ride, and they would be at Saint Patrick’s Purgatory, they would open the door, and Dean would come tumbling through.

“Holy crap.” Sam could barely squeeze the words out.

“I know, Sam,” Jody said, her thumb sweeping over the back of his hand. “I know.”

~*~

The drive to the ferry was dead silent. Jody never let go of his hand and Deirbhile never turned around to look at them. Sam looked out the window and bit down on his lip, stopping himself from telling Deirbhile to drive faster. The scenery was beautiful. Everything was a lush green, even when waterlogged. The rain never stopped. He thought that it was probably appropriate.

He couldn’t keep his mind from his brother’s face as he had last seen it. He wanted to be doing more, to be fighting something, dousing some monsters remains in salt and kerosene, lighting the match and watching it all go up in flames. He wanted blood pooling on the floor, sticky and a deep burgundy red.

Sam shuddered.

Jody held his hand tight.

~*~

The harbour they pulled into was the smallest one Sam had ever seen, room enough for three or four boats and the pier only a few meters long. The rain petered out as they stepped out of the car and he breathed in deep, the air fresh and smelling like the sea. The sky was heavy with dark clouds and night had fallen. In the near distance, he could see the lights of a ferry coming in, close enough that Sam could see its name.

The ‘Happy Hooker’. He snorted.

Deirbhile strode purposefully to the trunk of the car, lifting it open. She pulled out a backpack, bulging with stuff Sam didn’t want to think about, knowing it was for the ritual to open up the entrance to Purgatory. She looked over her shoulder, checking that no one was around. She handed Jody and Sam large machetes. 

Sam took his, removing the sheath to test the blade against his thumb. His skin parted easily under the light pressure, blood trickling. Freshly sharpened. Jody looked over at him and he nodded. She did the same as him, barely wincing at the sharp sting. 

“Why do we need these?” Jody wiped any traces of blood off the blade carefully before putting back in its sheath. Sam tucked his under his jacket, arms pressed tightly against his side.

Deirbhile looked at her with her eyebrows raised. 

“We’re opening the entrance to a place where monsters souls go. They’re going to want to come out and play. That,” she said, pointing at the machete in Jody’s hand, “is to hold them back.”

Jody swallowed and then straightened her shoulders. 

“Right,” she said shortly and tucked the blade up the arm of her jacket, face hard and determined. Sam reached over and tugged her closer, kissing her once, hard on the lips.

“Thank you,” he murmured, “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Nope.” She grinned at him.

Deirbhile slammed the trunk shut behind them and gave a pointed cough. They whirled to face her and she raised an eyebrow.

“Ferry’s come in,” she said. “Time to go.”

The three of them walked down the pier and onto the ferry. They could see the lights of Station Island in the distance. The sailors greeted Deirbhile but said not a word to Sam and Jody, eyeing them with suspicion. 

Sam made his way to the prow of the ferry, Jody following quickly behind him. The floor rolled with the waves. He clamped his hands on the rail and relaxed his knees, letting his body rock with the ferry. Jody leaned up beside him.

The engine started, loud and juddering, the planks beneath their feet vibrating. The ferry pulled away from the pier and began making its way to the island, the wind rushing against Sam and Jody’s faces. She curled into Sam’s chest and he lifted one arm off the railing to wrap around Jody’s shoulders. 

_Not long now_ , he thought.

~*~

The ferry journey took about fifteen minutes and by the end of it, Sam was freezing, the wind bitterly cold. Jody shivered against him as they docked up against the pier. They stumbled off the ferry, Sam’s legs feeling rubbery and unstable. He looked around in amazement. The island was incredibly small but had several large buildings which pressed right up against the shoreline. Most of the windows were dark and no one was walking around.

Deirbhile stood by one of the benches, waiting for them, talking to a man who was sitting. He was old, grey-haired and balding, a cane clutched in his right hand.

“These are the Americans you were telling me about?” His voice was querulous but his eyes were flinty and missed nothing as Sam stood before him. He clutched Jody’s hand as if it was his only safety net.

“Aye,” Deirbhile said curtly, “they’re in the business.”

“Ah. Welcome,” he said, facing Sam and Jody, “to Station Island, although I gather you’re more interested in St. Patrick’s Purgatory. The name’s Fiachra ó Briain.”

Sam started at his second name, glancing over at Deirbhile. Their eyes were the same sharp blue, their mouths of a similar shape.

“Picked up on that, did you? Deirbhile is my daughter.” He turned to look at her. “He’s not a fool, that boy.”

“No.” Her mouth shifted into a half-smile. “That he is not.”

Fiachra gave a small chuckle and then clapped his hands. 

“You have things to attend to, I won’t keep you busy.” He stood up, walked up to Sam, leaning heavily on his cane. His eyes locked on Sam’s, cold and sharp, his voice steady, no longer trembling. “You best do whatever it takes to make sure nothing comes out of that place that deserves to be there, you hear me? If anything happens, to my daughter or this island, I will kill you. Are we understood?”

Sam nodded, his back ramrod straight, shoulders square. “Yessir.”

Fiachra’s eyes narrowed. “Glad to hear it.” He tilted his head. “Your father was a soldier, wasn’t he? Good.”

“How did you—” Sam stepped forward. Jody pulled him back.

Fiachra raised his hand. “Leave an old man his mystery, hmm?” 

He shuffled back and then began making his way up the pier, leaving Sam behind feeling unsteady on his feet. As he passed Deirbhile, he gave her a smile, squeezing her arm.

“Best of luck,” he called over his shoulder, his voice back to that of a feeble old man. 

He disappeared into the building on the right, presumably the dormitories for those who were on pilgrimage and staying on the island.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.” Deirbhile walked straight ahead, alongside a grass lawn with an intricate swirling depression, stones inlaid as a spiral.

“This place is beautiful.” Jody’s eyes lingered on the pattern before moving to the trees to their left, stone walls circling them.

“I’m glad ye think so,” Deirbhile said with a small smile. She noticed where Jody’s eyes were. 

“Those are the stations for pilgrimage. Hence, Station Island. And up ahead, the bell tower and penitential beds.” 

The stone of the bell tower was worn, white lichen in spots across it. It was on top of a small mound. The night was dark and cold, but as Sam looked at the tower, he felt something pull him, like the pressure was different, warm air drawing him closer.

“It’s underneath the bell tower, isn’t it?” He was already walking towards it, letting go of Jody’s hand, not waiting for an answer. 

“Yes, it is. How the feck did ye know that?” Deirbhile sounded shocked, rushing after him as he made his way around the bell tower to the other side. 

There, the mound that the tower sat upon sloped to the ground, revealing an extra slab of stone, a thick black railing sitting beneath it. He brushed his hands across it, trying to see past it. He could make out a small tunnel but everything else was swallowed up by the blackest of shadows.

Deirbhile grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back. “How did ye know it was there, huh?” she asked him angrily. “Who’ve ye been talking too?”

“I swear, Deirbhile, I haven’t been talking to anyone. I just knew, alright?”

She looked at him askance. “Do ye have psychic powers ye have neglected to tell me about?”

“Well, I thought they were dormant?”

“Oh, for the love of God.” She shoved Sam away. “Spare me, Lord, from the idiots of this world.” She shot him a scathing look. “I’m going to have to change the ritual a small bit now. Admittedly, it’ll be easier to open the door with someone of your ‘dormant’ power, but ye should have told me. This kind of thing is important!”

“I’m sorry! But can we just get in there. Please?” 

Sam was so close now, only what felt like moments away from seeing his brother again. He wanted to rip the railing away and crawl into the space, dragging Deirbhile behind him. He sucked in a breath. He was going to get more vicious in his desperation.

“Fine!” Deirbhile threw up her hands. She turned away, muttering, pulling a heavy-looking key from her back pocket. “Jesus Christ, Mary and Joseph, the things I put up with because of that fecking diary…”

With a loud scrape and creak, the lock clicked and she pulled the gate open. She rummaged in her bag and produced a pair of flashlights, giving one to Sam.

“Ye can go first. The entrance tunnel is small, about two feet wide and three feet wide.” She gave Sam a pitying look that spoke volumes about the tight squeeze he would have to endure. “The cave had two parts, the first only high enough to kneel in and the second is on a turn to your left. Ye’ll be able to stand there. Even ye, Sam.”

Sam didn’t let the relief he was feeling show on his face as he moved to the entrance, crouching down. Jody placed a gentle hand on his back as he took a moment and then began crawling. His shoulders barely fit in the space, brushing up against the stone walls and catching on snags. He kept them tucked tight against his body but it meant that he had to move awkwardly, slowing down. The back of his head kept brushing up against the roof as he crawled on hands and knees. The light bounced off the walls as he inched forwards, the ground mucky beneath his palms.

Without warning, Sam was pitching forwards, tumbling down steps, landing on the ground with a grunt. Behind him, Jody managed to clamber down the six steps without falling. She shuffled her way over to him on her knees.

“You okay?” Her voice echoed slightly. 

Sam shifted into a seated position and spun the flashlight around, scoping out the cave. The sides were banked and the roof was made of stone, like the entrance tunnel.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he replied shortly, spying the turn where the second part of the cave was. His whole body tensed, breath catching at the back of his throat. He was so close to getting Dean back and his mind couldn’t focus on anything else.

Behind them, Deirbhile shuffled down the steps much more gracefully than either Sam or Jody had. 

“Hate them fecking things,” she said. “Well, on with ye!”

Sam moved forward on his knees towards the turn, keeping his head down and shoulders hunched. Within moments, he was through a roughly carved archway. Wary, he caught himself before he fell down another set of steps. He stood up, arching his back and rolling his shoulders, before flicking the flashlight across the cave. There was nothing much unusual about it, other than a black scorch mark against the back wall and the smell of the air, like ash, and the feeling of something waiting, hungry.

“For the most part,” Deirbhile said, walking beside him and placing her backpack on the ground, “this ritual is fairly simple, even if I have to edit things a little bit.”

She knelt down, opening up her backpack, pulling out a wooden bowl and various herbs that Sam purposefully didn’t look at. He didn’t want to know, not really, he just wanted Dean back.

“What’s most important about this,” she continued, “is the incantation. We’re letting Purgatory know that we’re and the entrance will open itself up.”

“What?” Jody asked, shocked. “What does that even mean?”

“Can ye feel it, Sam, how it hungers?” 

“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse, scraping out of his throat. Something knew they were there and Sam imagined that it was salivating.

Deirbhile turned to face Jody. “Purgatory is filled with the souls of monsters that feed on human flesh. Here, the separation is thin, so thin that all it takes are the right words and the right,” she gestured at the knife strapped to her leg, “offering.”

“You want my blood,” Sam said, more of a statement than a question, voice low.

“Yes. Purgatory is going to want to claim ye, going to try to pull ye in. Monsters will grab for ye and if they get ye, then they’ll come for us. Others are going to try to get out regardless.”

“Sam, Sam, are you sure this is a good idea?” Jody’s voice was frantic. “Why can’t you do it,” she said, looking at Deirbhile.

Anger flashed in her eyes. “I said I’d open the door and I am, but I will _not_ be swallowed into that place. I’m doing this out of necessity. I don’t know ye and I’m not willing to die for ye.”

“It’s okay, Jody,” Sam soothed, “I’ll do it, don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry,” she scoffed, before reaching up to give him a desperate kiss. “You pull them out,” she said fiercely. “And then,” she whirled to face Deirbhile, “you close that damned door.”

She pulled the machete out, unsheathed, holding it tightly in her hand, face unwavering. She nodded at Sam.

“We’re ready,” he told Deirbhile, taking out his own machete, whirling it in his hands.

Deirbhile placed everything in the bowl and then put it at the wall, beneath the scorch mark. 

“Place your blood on the wall, right across that mark. Do it quickly and then get ready. This is going to be one hell of a ride.”

Sam lifted up the blade, pressing it into the skin of his inner forearm and pulled. He hissed and the skin opened and blood welled up. Jody made a small distressed noise behind him. He dragged his bleeding arm over the black mark, noticing as he did that it wasn’t a scorch mark, but blackened and burned blood. He winced at the feel of the stone wall digging into the wound and stepped back. As soon as he did, Deirbhile began chanting.

Her words were indecipherable, but it sounded familiar. She was speaking in Irish, the words rolling off her tongue fluidly. 

Her voice got louder, deeper, and a wind began tugging at his hair. Sam could feel it, whatever _it_ was. And it was full of a ravenous appetite, a desire to consume. It felt thick and oozed over his skin. He gagged, stumbling back to stand between Deirbhile and Jody. The stone wall rippled and then stretched, distorted, under it separated with a disgusting, squelching pop, as Deirbhile reached a crescendo. He saw Jody shudder out of the corner of his eye.

Wind roared in his ears and it sounded like a thousand wolves howling. It wrapped around his legs and arms, pulling him. Through the stone wall, mist crept in, insidious, and Sam could see nothing but red eyes, waiting for him. The mist swirled around his legs and Sam was jerked forward. He slashed down with the machete and it retreated.

A arm reached through the opened door, covered in black fur and its clawed hand dripping. Jody rushed forward and hacked at it until it disappeared back into the shadows. She scuttled away as another arm reached forward, attempting to grab her. She pressed her side against the wall and brought her machete down. The bone snapped, black blood spilling, and the arm retreated with an inhuman yowl of pain.

“Sam,” Deirbhile yelled, “where is he? It wants more, it wants to open. I can’t hold it much longer!”

Sam was tugged forward, closer and closer. He kept cutting at the mist, the taste of ash clogging up the back of his throat. He couldn’t see Dean. Where the hell was he?

There was a round of pained and frustrated howls that came through and rattled around the cave. A flash of tan whirled by. 

“Castiel,” Sam shouted and he saw the blaze of his angel sword flying through the air. And then there was a human arm reaching through.

“Dean!” Sam rushed forward to grab him and pull. 

“Sam, God, Sam, help!” Dean’s voice was weak, his body shuddering as he gasped for breath.

Jody reached for Dean other arm and they pulled him through, chests heaving. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he swore. “Something’s got my leg, Sammy, something’s got me.”

With a frantic burst of energy, Sam yanked on his brother’s arm, ignoring how his bleeding arm protested, ignoring Dean’s pained yelp. He could see the gnarled and crooked hand that had a hold of Dean’s ankle and he reached through the doorway, slashing down with his machete. Dean fell to the floor in a heap with an anguished moan. 

Sam tried to pull back and found that he couldn’t, his arm trapped. “Jody! Help me.”

Jody’s machete dropped to the ground with a clatter and she wrapped her arms around his waist around his waist, pulling him back. He strained against what had him but it would not let him go.

“No, no, no, no, no.” Jody panted in his ear. “Don’t give up, Sam. Keep pulling.”

“Castiel,” Sam shouted, as he ran past, several lumbering, distorted monsters giving chase. “Dean’s through. He’s through!”

Castiel turned to him with wide eyes, a gash on his forehead, blood pouring down his face. He ran straight at him, dodging past things that made Sam feel ill to look at. He jumped at Sam, hands shoving violently at his shoulders, and they tumbled back. Sam rolled away, managing not to fall on Jody. Castiel landed in an awkward sprawl and Sam almost laughed at the angle of his limbs until he realised that something had tripped Cas up. The same something that was pulling him back in. Purgatory would not willingly give up on fresh blood.

“No!” Sam moved forward to wrap his arms under his shoulders. Castiel had one foot braced beneath the opening, against the stone wall, but the other was trapped. Sam watched in horror as the doorway began to shimmer and ripple.

“Deirbhile, what the hell is happening?” he roared.

“I have to close it. I’m sorry, I have to close it.”

“He’s still trapped!” He clenched his jaw, completely enraged.

“Ye never told me there were two!” Her voice was a scream, cracking underneath the strain.

Jody scrambled beside him, reaching for Castiel’s leg and pulling, but it didn’t budge. 

“Let me go,” Castiel rasped and Sam could barely hear him over the roar of the wind and the triumphant yowls that echoed from the other side.

“No,” Sam snarled.

He heard a scrape behind him and twisted his head to see Dean staggering to his feet, Sam’s machete clenched in his trembling hands. He stumbled to the wall, to where Castiel’s leg was trapped, the other side to Jody.

“Let me go!” Castiel tried to push Sam’s hands off him, twisting onto his side. He was dragged another inch back towards the opening, which rippled eagerly up his shin. It was closing faster and faster. They had only seconds left.

“No,” Dean said. He raised the machete over his head, bringing it down as hard as he could, the blade cutting through the air with a faint humming sound. It cut into the side of his knee with a sickening crunch. Castiel screamed, a sound that had Sam clutching at his ears, the sound distorting into a screech, a high-pitched sound that made him see stars. Dean slumped to the ground, panting, hands trembling, unable to finish it. Sam watched in horror as Castiel struggled and his leg ripped apart, the opening not relinquishing its grip. He screamed again, and it changed, shifted into his angel’s voice, leaving Sam writhing on the ground, clutching at his ears. The opening to Purgatory closed over Castiel’s lower leg, swallowing it up. Castiel was left with nothing but a broken and bleeding stump.

Dean had a sheen of sweat on his face, the skin ashen and sick-looking. Castiel twitched and moaned. He moved his leg and bit down on another scream. Sam lifted a hand to check his ears and found blood. Castiel made another sound.

“Oh God,” Jody groaned and scurried back to be sick in the corner. He heard a thump behind him and turned to see Deirbhile slump in a dead faint

“Sam,” Dean called, voice reedy.

“On it.” He pulled off his jacket and then his shirt, ripping it in half. He moved forward, wrapping the two halves around the bleeding stump. He wrapped his jacket around it as well, making as best a bandage as he could. Castiel made a cut-off sound and then his whole body slumped as he passed out. 

“That needs to be taken care of,” Dean rasped and Sam rushed forward to give him a hug, his entire body screaming out in joy that Dean was here, alive. 

“Dean.” He choked the word out, overwhelmed and on the verge of tears.

“Yeah, kiddo,” he whispered and let Sam squeeze him, hand stroking through the hair at the back of his head. “Yeah, Sammy.”

They were back together and all Sam’s hollow parts weren’t so hollow anymore. Jody crawled over beside him and took his hand in hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can't believe this challenge is over and that I've ended up with this many words. I'm totally proud of myself because I never thought I could do it. There are a couple of thank you's I have to make and some notes I'd like to share.
> 
> First off, thank you to my artist, [evian-fork](http://evian-fork.livejournal.com/), for creating such wonderful artwork (link will be provided asap). Seriously, I am so delighted with what she came up with. Second for of gratitude goes towards my betas, [cassandra_leeds](http://cassandra_leeds.livejournal.com/) and [ilfirin-estel](http://ilfirin-estel.livejournal.com) for doing such a bang up job correcting my mistakes. I'd also like to thank them for letting me use a small section of our RP in my fic, which was the vision. Thanks must also go to [padacocking](http://padacocking.livejournal.com/)/[soulforsam](http://soulforsam.tumblr.com/) for the alpha read and for pointing out a few major faults. 
> 
> Shout out to my friend Deirbhile for letting me use her name and to everyone who cheered me on along the way, especially those on tumblr. Thanks guys!!
> 
> And a final profound thank you to the mods of the [het bigbang](http://het-bigbang.livejournal.com/) for running and organising the challenge.
> 
> And now for the notes:
> 
> -Saint Fursa is real and he is noted to have had visions about Heaven and Hell. I tweaked that to include Purgatory.  
> -St. Patrick's Purgatory on Station Island is a real place. No, [seriously](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Patrick's_Purgatory). However, there is no record of Fursa ever going there. I've also never been there, so it's description may be slightly inaccurate.  
> -The meaning of the herbs needed for the spell are accurate, as far as I can tell. I didn't pull it out of my ass. As it were.  
> -The spell Sam uses in Part Three is completely made up. It sounds much more impressive in Gaelige but here's the English version so you know what is being said:  
>  _I call on the Dagda  
>  as I walk around the circle times three  
> carry me through the air,  
> carry me past this place,  
> carry me to the person I miss the most,  
> around the circle times three  
> and give me the sight._


End file.
